Ripples
by Dark Aegis
Summary: History was a misnomer. The past was a misnomer. All things were possible in Time. A Ninth Doctor and Rose story.
1. Chapter 1: History Torn Asunder

**Title:** Ripples  
**Author:** Gillian Taylor  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters:** Ninth Doctor, Rose  
**Summary:** History was a misnomer. The past was a misnomer. All things were possible in Time.  
**Spoilers:** Up to _Father's Day_  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.  
**Archive:** Sure, just let me know.

**A/N:** Though I love the shippiness of _Father's Day_, I disagreed with the Doctor's methods. He should've known better, and this fic grew from that idea. In my opinion, this how that story should've gone... Thanks, as always, to my lovely betas NNWest, Ponygirl72, and WMR.

* * *

_Ripples  
by Gillian Taylor_

**Chapter 1: History Torn Asunder**

History. It was such a simple word for such a complex subject. Most species regarded history as set in stone. History was written by the winners. They glossed over the hardships and unmentionables to paint their past in a favourable light. What those species did not know was that history was continuously re-written. Not by the winners or losers, but by time travellers.

A word misspoken, a left turn instead of a right, the mere act of breathing in a past or future atmosphere caused minute changes in history. For those beings that lived outside time – the mythical Time Lords, for example – this had little effect. Changes happened all the time. Someone could be born in 1987 and die in 1869. A butterfly could be stepped on in the Cretaceous period and the wrong candidate could be elected to office.

Change was a fact of life. Even a time traveller's history could be re-written. Birth, life, and death are in constant flux. A meeting that never happened could. An adventure that never happened would.

History was a misnomer. The past was a misnomer.

All things were possible in Time.

"You, stay there! You've done this before. This is mine!" She flashed him a grin before she ran to the doors, ignoring the folds of the skirt as they tangled about her legs.

This was what it was for. This was why she loved this, loved being here. She had seen the end of the world, but now, now she was going to see 1860. A Christmas long gone, but all hers to explore.

Her grin widened as she swung open the doors and looked at the snow-covered world outside.

She put her foot down, crushing the newly fallen snow. History. She was in the past, her past, and it was – to borrow a phrase – fantastic.

Beneath her shoe, a pebble shifted.

Later, a cat chased a mouse through the snow, intent on its prey. It skidded on the pebble that should never have moved and darted into the street.

A coach swerved.

And, unnoticed, the fabric of time began to unravel.

The wind whistled through the trees, carrying with it the harsh scents of oil and decay. She could barely remember a time when the wind had only carried the soft, sweet scents of life and baking. She could barely remember a time when fear had not been a constant companion. She could barely remember a time when she had gone to school, had laughed, had smiled. She could barely remember a time when she had been happy.

The harsh _clunk-clunk_ of booted feet on the pavement echoed ominously through the streets and she pressed herself against the side of the decrepit building. She prayed that it would hide her from the patrols as she silently cursed herself for leaving the safety of the commune.

However, food would inevitably drive her outside. Someone would have to forage for food, praying that the patrols would not stop them as they darted through the city streets of London.

Oh, UNIT had tried. She well remembered Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart as he had spoken on the telly – had it only been three years ago? - encouraging the people to have heart. UNIT would save them.

That day had yet to come.

The fight continued on the outskirts of the city. Sontarans and UNIT soldiers alike had died. But they were still enslaved.

They were still at the mercy of the alien invaders.

Rose Tyler brushed back her ratty and ill-kept hair from her face as she strained her senses. The marching Sontarans' movements echoed strangely through the crumbling streets, but she could tell that they were moving away from her. She was safe.

For now.

However, she couldn't return to the commune. Not yet. Not until she found food. Some farms still produced food for the UNIT soldiers, and a small resistance movement would bring some of the supplies into the city for those poor souls who were left behind. However, those stashes were routinely destroyed by the Sontarans once they were found. Therefore the resistance moved the locations, leaving behind clues.

She skirted the edge of the street, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. The first sign should be...

Ah, there it was.

A poster advertising a movie long since gone out of theatres had been defaced recently with tiny writing.

_Bad Wolf_.

A tiny shiver ran through her body as she read the words and for a moment she knew exactly what her mum had meant when she said 'someone just walked o'er my grave.'

Bad Wolf. She played the words in her mind as she crept back into the shadows. There had been a warehouse in the East End that had been owned by a Bad Wolf Corporation near the docks. That must be it.

It would take time to get there, but she had no choice. Time was not her friend and had not been her friend – or that of the human race – for years. She increased her speed, pausing now and then to listen intently for the passage of her enemies.

The trip to the East End was strangely uneventful and patrol-free. Scepticism warred with need within her as she approached the warehouse. It could be a trap, she realised. She could hardly put it past the warrior race to lay out an elaborate scheme to capture the few humans that were left free in the city.

She froze, caught in a moment of indecision. She could go forward or go back. Her commune would go without for one more night, but they had been going without for too long.

No choice.

Rose darted across the open ground to the side of the warehouse, flattening her too-thin body against the solid wall. Her senses strained, but she could hear nothing. Could it be that it wasn't a trap? That, just this once, she was safe?

She edged around the building and found the door. The words 'Bad Wolf' had been written near the doorframe, and she smiled faintly. Maybe it wasn't a trap.

She slowly turned the knob, pausing as she heard the soft snick of the door catch's release. No reaction.

The door opened smoothly – the resistance must have oiled the fasteners – and she slipped inside. Her sensitive nose twitched at the smell of vegetables and fruit, and she grinned.

Judging from the smell alone, there would be more than enough for a month of feeding the commune. The smell caused her to be careless. She stepped into the faint light shed by the tiny window overhead.

She heard the sound of a safety being released. A very familiar voice spoke from the darkness. "Hello, sweetheart. Thought you might be coming here."

Her expression twisted into a snarl as she replied, "Dad." Of course he would be behind this particular trap. Sontaran sympathiser. Traitor. She was ashamed that she still thought of him as her father. She still remembered the day he had turned. He had told her to run after they had run into a patrol. She had thought him dead, but later she found that he had joined them.

Joined the Sontarans and left her and Mum alone.

Traitor.

She glared at Pete Tyler as he stepped out of the darkness, surrounded by two of his Sontaran allies. "You gonna kill me now or wait until you can get me out to the frontlines? You're gonna try and sway Bambera to give up using me as a hostage, aren't ya? Really, Dad, would've thought better of you."

She caught his flinch and suppressed a grin of triumph. Good.

"It's not like that, Rose," he protested.

Before she could reply, a strange grating noise, somewhere between a hoarse donkey's bray and rubbing a bar of soap against a cheese grater, filled the room. The Sontarans and her father turned toward the source of the sound, swinging their weapons away from her.

She would never get a better opportunity.

So, she ran. But not before she grabbed one of the sacks of food. It wasn't anywhere close to enough, but it would do.

She paused at the entrance to look back at her father one last time. Her Dad, the traitor. And, in front of him, a strange blue box seemed to be solidifying into existence.

No time.

She slipped out the door and back into the streets of London.

"Peter Alan Tyler – my dad. The most wonderful man in the world. Born 15th December, 1954. Mum said that he loved adventures. So I was thinking... could we? Could we go and see my Dad. When he was still alive?" Rose's voice and expression were earnest as she described her father.

She wanted to see her dad. Of course she did. The chair creaked as he turned toward her. "Where's that come from all of a sudden?"

Rose looked at her hands, refusing to meet his gaze. "All right, if we can't, if it breaks the laws of time or something, then... never mind, just leave it."

Oh it did. It would. Break the laws of time and then some. If she saw her father and he saw her, there would be consequences. There always were. That was a facet of time travel that could never be escaped. Tiny changes happened all the time – caused by him, his companions, or other time travellers – but, if they weren't careful, those changes might destroy the universe.

He regarded the ball in his hands critically for a moment before he replied. "It does and doesn't break the laws of time, Rose. What it depends on is what you do while we're there. You save him, for example, when he should've died. Or he sees you, when he shouldn't have. You say the wrong thing, see the wrong people. This is your past, Rose, your immediate past. These would be people you know. Any change, any one at all, an' the world you know could be different. A different person could be Prime Minister. The world could be at war. You might not have worked at the shop. Anything could happen, Rose. Time is that fragile. It changes all the time."

Her downtrodden expression pulled at his hearts and he sighed. "Tell you what. We'll pop back to London. You can see your Mum, eat beans on toast, watch the telly, and visit your friends."

She met his gaze and he felt his resolve melt just a little, if only to see her smile. "An' then we can talk about it again. Okay?"

Rose's smile was brilliant. "'Kay."

He set the ball onto the console and leapt to his feet. London, 2006. Two weeks after their last visit should do. He set the coordinates and with the press of a button they were on their way.

She'd be fine after a visit to her mum. She was feeling nostalgic, he reasoned. Anyone would be after what she'd seen. End of the world, the Gelth, alien invasions, Daleks, and the Editor.

He was surprised that she was willing to stay.

"What about you?" she asked as she leaned against the railing.

Even after all that he had put her through, even after he had almost killed her, she still worried about him.

Humans amazed him.

"What about me?" he asked as the temporal rotor slowed to a stop. He crawled beneath the console and started eying the wires. "Go on, Rose. See your Mum. Go have beans on toast, or whatever it is you get up to while you're with her. Powell Estates, right outside. Not too far a walk."

Though he couldn't see her face, he could tell that she was sceptical. "Go on. Still be here, me. The stabiliser's actin' up."

"You sure? You could come with me..." She needed this time. With her Mum and without him. She was nostalgic. Her mum could help her – he couldn't. Wouldn't. Shouldn't.

"Nah. Don't do domestic, me. I'll jus' muck around here while you have fun." He gestured toward the doors with his foot. "Go on, daylight's a-wastin.' You could be shoppin' instead of hangin' around here."

"Right. An' how long've I been gone this time?"

"Been two weeks since your last visit," he replied as he shoved his sonic screwdriver in between the wires.

"'Kay. See you later, Doctor!" She ran toward the doors.

He didn't bother to reply. This was new to him, though it made her happy. Familial visits had never been part of the job description before. Travelling through time and space had never had strings.

Jackie Tyler had asked him to promise. Promise that he'd protect her, promise that he'd keep her safe. However, he couldn't promise. He'd try, do his best, tear the world apart on Rose's behalf, but there were some things he just could not promise. So many companions, so many people he had whisked away from their safe lives and shown the universe to. He had taken them away for years at a time– never mind the consequences for those who cared about them, those who loved them.

The War had changed a lot of things about him. He was the last of his kind. But, now, he truly knew what familial ties meant. He could give Rose this, because he did not have it himself. She had a place to belong. He never would.

The TARDIS doors opened with a barely audible creak. There. That was that, then. Rose'd be off, seeing her Mum, shopping, and doing whatever it was that she did while she was home. Hopefully that'd get her thoughts off her Dad, at least for the time being. He knew what she wanted. In any other situation, he might be tempted. But not now. Not when he knew what might happen, what could happen.

He could lose her. If the world changed, he could lose her and that he couldn't bear.

"Oh god!" Rose's shocked voice interrupted his train of thought.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." She repeated the words in a mumble as he pulled himself to his feet.

She stood in the threshold of the doorway, her body caught between the dimensional rift between the TARDIS' interior and her exterior. Rose's back was tight with tension and her hand was raised halfway to her lips.

He crossed the console room at a run, skidding to a stop at her side. "Rose? Rose, what is it?"

His eyes were only on her, not on the view outside.

"Rose?" a man's voice asked.

"Daddy," she whispered, falling back into his chest. Her entire body trembled from shock, and now he looked.

Now he saw.

A tall, red-haired man stared at them both in shock. "Rose? How?"

"The Bringer of Darkness," one of the Sontarans growled. "You should be dead."

Sontarans? That wasn't right. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. The Sontarans should be merrily fighting the Rutans, not on the tiny planet Earth doing whatever it was they were doing.

"Yeah?" he asked with a cocky grin. That grin hid a multitude of sins, including his shock. "Rumours of my death are highly exaggerated."

He slid his arm around Rose and slowly tried to draw her back into the safety of the TARDIS.

"Stop!" the second Sontaran commanded. The alien gestured with his weapon for him to leave his ship.

Like that would stop him?

"Stop? Not halt? Or 'hold it?' Or 'stick 'em up?' Honestly, thought more of you lot. Speaking of which -" He used his pause to shift both himself and Rose further into the TARDIS. Just a few more moments, and they'd be able to close the doors. "- what are you doing here? You should be at least fifty light years away, fighting the Rutan Host near the Intillan system."

His gaze shifted toward Pete Tyler. This was Rose's father? How could that be? This was 2006. He should be dead. Should be, but wasn't. The Sontarans had never invaded Earth. They'd tried, of course, but from the look of things now they had succeeded.

Wasn't that just fantastic?

Time was mucked up, and, of course, he would have to clean it up. Just a few more centimetres...

There.

"Love to stay and chat, but got better things to do. Saving the world comes to mind. See ya!" He released Rose only long enough to slam the doors shut.

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2: Tracing the Threads

**Chapter 2: Tracing the Threads**

The sound of weapon fire hitting the exterior of his beloved ship caused him to wince, but he knew she'd hold. "That's not right," he muttered, shaking his head. The Sontarans had invaded, Rose's dad was alive...

Rose.

She had wrapped her arms around herself as her body shivered from reaction.

"Rose," he whispered, crossing the short distance to gather her into his arms.

"It's...it's my Dad, but it's not. It looked like 'im, but it can't be. Right? I mean, he's older. Got grey in his hair an' he didn't before. Not in the pictures. He's dead, isn't he? Isn't he?" One of her hands fisted his jumper as she seemed to fight for control. "It's some trick, isn't it? I mean, I was jus' talkin' to you about him. An'...and there he was..."

"Rose."

She didn't answer.

"_Rose_," he repeated her name, putting as much emphasis on it as possible.

Once he was certain he had her attention, mostly due to the tearful brown eyes staring into his own, he continued. "Anything's possible. Time's fragile, an' something's mucked with it. Those aliens that were with him? They shouldn't be here. The Sontarans are supposed to be occupied with their war with the Rutan, not on Earth. It's all gone pear-shaped, an' we need to figure out why."

"We can't leave him there," Rose said softly. "We just can't. If it's my dad, an' he is. You said he is. Well, a version of 'im, we can't leave him. It's not right."

He sighed. "Rose, he's not..."

"Don't say it. Just don't, okay? He is. An' he's my Dad, and you've got to do something." She poked his chest with an accusing finger. "You've got to. We can't just leave him like that. Not with those Sonatrans or whatever they're called."

"Sontarans," he corrected absently. Great. Fantastic. He had sworn that he didn't do domestic, and now what was he thinking of doing? Bringing in the family. He wouldn't let Jackie into the TARDIS – well, willingly. Peter Alan Tyler, though? A man who shouldn't exist? Should he let him in? Save him? Even though, at the end of the day, he'd be dead all over again?

He touched her cheek, searching her eyes as he replied. "Rose, you sure? You know that it's not really him, right? I don't want you to be hurt..."

"Doctor, it's him! It's my Dad, an' you've got to save him. I _know_ it's not gonna last. But, please." Rose looked at him imploringly.

He sighed again. She had no idea just what he would do just to make her happy. What had become of the man he used to be? When had her happiness become more important to him than... ?

No.

She wanted her dad safe. He could do that. Could save Pete Tyler and bring him aboard for the short hop to somewhere else. There had to be a resistance movement or even UNIT about. He couldn't see the human race rolling over for the Sontarans.

Which reminded him. If Pete Tyler was alive and the Sontarans had invaded...where was he? This universe's version of him, at least. At least, he thought this was an alternate universe. But if something had changed the original timeline...

Oh.

That would be bad.

Rose was still waiting for an answer.

"Okay."

"Jus' like that?" she asked, incredulous.

He smiled faintly. "Just like that. But only for a bit. We'll get him to a safe place, an' then we've got to find out what happened around here. You have to be certain, though. You do want me to do this?"

"Yes."

Without bothering to reply, he moved to the console. Short distances were tricky and he checked the readouts on the screen to try and determine just how much space he had to manoeuvre.

Answer? Not much.

Fantastic. Good thing he was a genius.

He set the coordinates, turned a few knobs, pressed a few buttons, and with a flick of a final switch they were off. The temporal rotor barely pulsed, but a moment later Peter Tyler was starting to materialise in the corner of the room. Hard to twist the exterior dimensions to exclude the Sontarans, but when one was a genius, it was possible.

Easy.

"Rose?" the newly solidified human asked.

"Dad?"

Domestic.

Only one thing he could do. He walked around the console. "Mind keeping the domestics outside? Thanks. So, Pete Tyler. I'm the Doctor. Welcome to the TARDIS. Before you say anything – yes, it's bigger on the inside. Yup, I'm an alien. And nope, she's not quite your daughter. There. All answered? Good."

"Doctor..."

He beamed. "Yup, that's me! So, Pete Tyler, I have some questions..."

"Doctor, d'you mind?" Rose asked in exasperation.

"What?" He looked at her father and sighed. Ah. Culture shock. Should've thought of that before he started babbling. "Right. That's okay. Culture shock. Happens to the best of us."

"Who are you?" Pete seemed to barely be able to speak, let alone process what he was seeing. Great. Fantastic. At least he wouldn't be here long.

"Told you, I'm..."

"He's a git. Never mind him," Rose interrupted his words and took her father's arm. "C'mon, have a seat. It's okay. Really."

"No, it's not." Pete shook his head in denial and remained where he was. "You can't be here, Rose. I just saw you. Outside. But...she's not you, is she? Or you're not her. Your clothes are different."

"Nothing wrong with his powers of observation," he commented. That earned him a dirty look from his companion.

"So, there's another me out there?" Rose's nose wrinkled as she seemed to think hard on the subject. "How's that possible?"

He returned to the console and reset the coordinates. Sent them drifting in the vortex for a time, at least until he got answers. "Told you, Rose. Anything's possible in time. But meeting another you'd be a bad idea. Let alone touching another you. Tends to muck up time, an' it's mucked up enough already without that paradox on top of it."

Once he was satisfied that they were safely in temporal orbit, he leaned against the console and folded his arms before him. "But, if you're all rested, Pete, I've got a few questions for you. Starting with the most important one. When'd the Sontarans invade? And how."

"Three years ago. Christmas Day. Wait a minute, you should know this." Pete looked at him suspiciously.

"Alien, remember? Assume nothing. So, Christmas Day? What year?"

"2006."

He suppressed the urge to curse. 2006. Which meant this was 2009 and they certainly weren't anywhere near the Powell Estates. Fantastic. At least it wasn't Cardiff. "And what about the resistance movement? Three years of Sontaran oppression. Must be something."

"Yeah, UNIT and a few others. Why 're you asking?"

"Jus' curious. That and it's where we're going next. Soon as you tell me where I can find 'em. No, never mind, I can guess. They're keeping the fight to the outskirts of London, aren't they?" Without waiting for an answer, he nodded. That'd be it. They'd reclaim the old UNIT HQ. Clever blokes. Stay out of the city, have a useful base of operation.

He'd be able to get answers from UNIT. Besides Pete Tyler still being alive, there had to be something else. Something that he was missing. Something important. Like where he, or the version from this universe, might be. He returned to the controls. Just a few more twists on the directional knobs and they were away once more.

This time to UNIT HQ.

* * *

This was certainly not turning out to be the best of days. Not only had she been almost captured by her own dad but now she was running from a Sontaran patrol. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should've looked. Should've realised that the patrols were there – they had just let her past because of Pete Tyler's trap.

But she hadn't.

This was her reward for that mistake. Running. Again.

She was lucky the Sontarans were only firing stunning blasts. Though the stun would hurt, it wouldn't kill. That they preferred to save for later. She dodged another beam, leaping around the corner of a decrepit building.

Rose skidded on a piece of rubbish, cursing at the poor footing as she struggled to keep up the pace. She had to get away. They were right behind her. She could hear their pounding footsteps. Their shots were getting more accurate.

They would have her in a minute if she wasn't careful.

She couldn't go to the commune. That'd put everyone in danger. She couldn't backtrack – the Sontarans would catch her.

That left her one choice.

The outskirts. Maybe in the confusion of the ongoing skirmishes between UNIT and the Sontarans, she could evade her pursuers.

Maybe.

She lengthened her stride, looping the bag of food over her shoulder so she could pay more attention to her movement. She had to escape. Had to flee.

She couldn't get caught. Not now.

She heard the muffled _thump-whoosh_ of heavy artillery fire in the distance. She was getting close to the main battlefield.

Just a little bit further, and she'd be safe. Well, as safe as one could be in the midst of a battle. But it should throw off the Sontarans. She'd just be another human warrior. Fighting for UNIT, disappearing into the shadows, and returning home.

At least, that was the plan.

However, as she had long ago learned, the best laid plans would always be thrown merrily out the window when aliens were about. She pressed herself against the solid wall of the building beside her. The Sontarans were coming, but she wanted to be certain it was clear to continue running.

That was when she felt a hand land upon her shoulder.

She stiffened, silently cursing herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She had got cocky. She had thought she was safe.

She was wrong.

"Who are you?" a harsh voice whispered. A harsh _human_ voice.

"In trouble. C'mon, there're Sontarans right behind me. We've gotta move." Rose replied, daring to try to take a few steps forward.

The hand tightened on her shoulder. "How do I know you're not a sympathiser?"

"You don't. But there are about a dozen Sontarans behind me that'll prove it. So, mind not askin' questions when we should be..." A blast struck the wall above her, causing shards of broken masonry to fall on top of them. "Running!"

They ran. Her latest friend turned out to be a stocky, older man wearing a uniform that was in parts too-worn and too-tight for his figure. If she had to guess at an age, she thought he was in his late sixties, though his hair only had a touch of grey. "This way," he instructed, grabbing her arm and steering her toward the fighting. "We'll meet up with my squad. They'll be able to drive back the Sontarans."

"Right." She managed the word between breaths as they dashed through the crumbling ruins of the city.

There. The street ahead was cloudy – whether from smoke or dust she was not sure. However, flashes of light indicated the presence of soldiers and their weapons. The sharp _rat-a-tat-tat_ of their artillery echoed down the street, but she could see someone standing at the edge of the dust cloud.

"Oi! Yates! Get us some cover fire!" her companion shouted.

The figure started and swung the rifle toward them. "Benton! Get over here!"

The newly named Benton increased his speed, pulling her along with him. Only when they had reached the other soldier's side did they stop. "Squadron of Sontarans are on our heels, Yates. Need a round of cover fire."

"Who's she then?" Yates asked as he signalled for other soldiers to join them, almost as if this sort of thing happened to him every day.

"Right now? Trouble." Benton answered.

"'She' can talk for herself, y'know. I'm Rose. Rose Tyler."

"Nice to meet you, miss," Yates said politely. "I'm Lt. Colonel Mike Yates. That's Colonel John Benton. And…" The officer aimed his weapon. "Looks like you brought friends."

"Not my friends," she mumbled. She was ushered to the side by Benton as Yates and several other soldiers started firing at the oncoming Sontarans.

She wasn't certain how the outnumbered soldiers could hold back the Sontarans. Seeing the troops in person only made her realise how much trouble humanity was really in. Their uniforms were in tatters – most were hemmed poorly, and a few had rough patches made from other materials. The only equipment that seemed to be in decent shape were their weapons, but that was to be expected.

The commune was too far away now, and she could not get away from Benton. Not without getting caught by the Sontarans. It really was one of those days.

To her surprise, she heard a female voice shout orders from deeper within the smoky battlefield. "Fall back! Fall back! Echo, echo, echo."

Benton looked surprisingly grim as he gently grasped her arm. "You heard her, Rose. We're falling back. And you're coming with us."

"Wait a mo', I didn't agree to goin' with you. I'm going home." She struggled against his grip, but it only tightened in response.

"Not like this, you're not. Rose, listen to me. The Brigadier'd probably want to talk to you. You can help us. You're from the city, you know what's happening inside. And it's not safe."

Her tone was harsh as she replied. "Like anythin's been safe since they came!"

The Colonel's lips narrowed as he steered her with the retreating troops. "Doesn't matter, Rose. You're with UNIT now."

"An' you're gonna let me come back?" she asked, shaking her head. "Doubt it, knowing you lot. I can't go with you. Let me go!" She had food to get to the commune. They needed her. She couldn't let them take her. She had to get away. Somehow. "Please, Benton. My people, they need this food." She gestured at the bag. "I've got to get back to them."

His expression was apologetic. "Sorry, miss. It's for your own protection."

"Sorry doesn't cut it." She glared at him, but he seemed unrepentant.

Benton shrugged and kept her moving. His hand never strayed from its grip on her arm. He was a smart one.

Protective custody, was it? Great. Fantastic.

And she had thought this day couldn't get any worse.

* * *

What sort of world had they found themselves on?

He watched the frantic pulse of the temporal rotor with a thoughtful expression. He was, of course, ignoring the reunion between Rose and her dad. Best thing to do, in a case like this. Not that he really was her dad. Well, he could be or was if the timeline was different. But it wasn't.

Sometimes thoughts about alternative realities and altered timelines could give him headaches. He could feel one building near his right temple and the pain sharpened with each beat of his hearts.

He hesitated to speculate, but speculation was all that he could do. Fact. Sontarans had invaded in 2006. Fact. Pete Tyler was alive. Fact. The Nestene Consciousness... Wait. He had forgotten to ask about that.

He leaned across the console to press another button, nudging the TARDIS closer to their destination. "Pete, did your planet get invaded by the Nestene Consciousness in 2005? Plastic shop dummies coming to life, attacking everyone in sight, mass hysteria on the streets? Typical horror film-type reaction?"

Pete Tyler turned toward him, his face a study in shock. "You mean you don't know? Oh. Course you don't. Yes, there was a plastic scare in 2005. UNIT took care of the problem with a bomb. Lost the London Eye, but it was worth it."

Oh. That answered it then. Either a) he didn't exist in this universe, wiped out with the rest of his people or b) the version of him that belonged here was dead. "Fantastic," he muttered to himself.

The pace of the temporal rotor slowed to a stop and he sighed. Only one thing for it. He'd probably have to talk his way into UNIT HQ. They either wouldn't know him, or they'd think he was dead. Not the best of situations to be stuck in.

Never mind, of course, the likelihood of his getting shot on sight by some trigger-happy guard. UNIT was at war. "We're here. Stay inside. I'll be right back."

"Like hell you will," Rose replied, bracing her hands on her hips. "Not without me."

"Rose, they know me here. Best to be on the safe side, yeah? You and your dad can socialise while I chat with UNIT. Shouldn't take long. All I've got to do is convince 'em to let Pete stay. Then we can sort this. Simple, yeah?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Nothing simple about it. I know you, Doctor. You're thinkin' about protectin' me again. An' I won't have it. You need me."

"I'd let her do as she likes, Doctor. I know that look. Her mum'd do the same to me," Pete added helpfully.

He shot the other man an exasperated look. "Rose, your dad needs you too."

"You're wasting time."

She was right. He was. He needed to talk to UNIT. But she wouldn't relent. He knew that look on her face as well.

Served him right to have picked a stubborn ape for a companion. Then again, he wouldn't have it any other way.

He grinned. "Right. Fine. Pete, you stay here. Don't touch anything. And I do mean anything. Take a seat by the door or somethin'. But don't touch any of those controls. Got it?"

Pete nodded and settled onto the floor, leaning against one of the pillars. "How long'll you two be gone?"

"Long enough to get this bit sorted," he replied. Hadn't he already said that? Wasn't Pete listening? Probably still suffering from culture shock, he reasoned.

"Right." Pete looked unconvinced, but he did not care.

It was time to get this part of the problem fixed. He held out his hand and smiled when Rose took it. It was probably selfish of him, but he was pleased that she wanted to come with him rather than stay with her dad. However, that didn't stop his worry. Anything could happen outside the TARDIS doors.

Anything at all.

Well, no use in worrying about what might be rather than what was. He opened the TARDIS doors and stepped outside…

And right into the line of fire of half a dozen UNIT soldiers.

Only one thing he could do. With a cocky grin, and making sure that Rose was safely behind him, he waved with his free hand. "Hello!"

"State your name and business." One of the officers – a captain judging by the rank pins on his shoulder – ordered.

"I'm the Doctor. This is Rose Tyler. An' I'm here to sort out the mess that you lot are currently in."

"And I'm the tooth fairy," the Captain snapped. "You're trespassing on private property, Doctor-if-that's-what-your-name-is."

He blinked. "Really? Ne'er met the tooth fairy before. Have you, Rose? 'Sides, would've thought that a war would've caused you to slacken your regulations on trespassing. 'Specially when said trespassers happen to travel in a police public call box. Tell you what, Captain. Why don't you contact the Brigadier, assuming that it's either Lethbridge-Stewart or Bambera, and let them know that I'd like to talk to them?"

He began to reach into his pocket and froze as the Captain cocked his rifle. "Calm down. Just reaching for my card."

"Slowly."

With exaggerated care, he slipped his hand into his pocket searched until he came across the card. "Here, show the Brigadier this." He handed over his old UNIT badge.

The Captain took a cursory glance at the item as he accepted it. "This doesn't look like you, Doctor."

"Course it doesn't. I'm taller, thinner, and a better dresser these days. Go on, then. Tell the Brigadier I'm here." Last time he had dealt with UNIT, they knew about him. They had known that he could regenerate. Things had obviously changed for the worse.

"Jenkins, Mosey, escort these two to a holding room. You might be who you say you are, Doctor. You might not be. I don't really care. But you will." The Captain turned on his heel and headed toward the main house.

He sighed and turned toward Rose. "Why do I always get threatened by amateurs?"

"It's a gift?" she offered as their arms were grasped firmly by their guards.

"Oi! We can walk, y'know. 'S not hard. One foot in front of the other? 'Sides, I'm not going anywhere. I wanted to talk to the Brigadier. Not escape from UNIT's clutches." Amateurs.

"Move it." One of the guards pulled on his arm and steered him toward the house.

Great. Why did he always get the stereotypical guards, too?

Murphy must really have a vendetta against him.

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3: Nostalgia

**Chapter 3: Nostalgia**

She scowled at the passing landscape. Outside the city, the Sontaran reign of terror and death seemed distant and dream-like. Lush green foliage stretched from horizon to horizon, marred only by evidence of fires and holes from bombs. In the country, she felt resentment. The people who sheltered outside of the city didn't suffer as she did. As the commune did.

Out here there was food. Out here there was water and safety and whatever fictional peace they could delude themselves with. She didn't even have that luxury. Day-to-day life consisted of survival. Nothing more.

She wanted to go home.

In the country, she felt as if she were the fictitious element. A heroine of an old movie, perhaps, extracted from the theatre, tossed into real life, and expected to survive. However, all she knew were the monsters. All she knew was that Godzilla would destroy the city and there was nothing that she could do to stop it.

"It'll be all right, miss." Lt. Colonel Yates' words startled her out of her reverie.

She wanted to object. Nothing could ever be all right. Not on this world. Not now. Not ever. Her dad was a traitor. The Sontarans were winning. She was under UNIT's protective custody. Nothing was all right.

She settled for a sigh.

"Honestly, it will. The Brigadier'll sort it. You're safe now." The Colonel ran his hand over his balding scalp and offered her a smile.

"Right." She spoke the word with as much disbelief as possible. Faith in authority figures, telling her it'd be 'all right,' and his insistence could've been endearing. Not today.

"We're almost there," Yates said, apparently choosing to ignore her scepticism.

She didn't know how he could tell. The countryside looked the same as she stared out the back of the canvas-covered truck. Everything looked the same, almost as if the Sontarans had never invaded. Except, of course, for the scars on her hands and the dead look in most of the soldiers' eyes.

This was war.

This was just another aspect of her life.

Nothing would or could be all right ever again.

She could hear the pitch of the truck's engine change as they rumbled to a stop. They had been travelling for at least a few hours and she was thoroughly lost. She was in the country. London was almost a dream. She was a 'guest' of UNIT.

She might never get to go home.

"Come on, miss." Yates had moved during her musings and offered her his hand to help her off the truck. "The Brigadier'll see you in a bit. First off, we'll show you to some quarters. Things 're a little tight around here. Bunking space is limited, but I think we've got at least one room open near the barn. You might have to share, but you understand."

She climbed off the truck without Yates' help, pointedly ignoring his offer. "Go on, then. Show me to these quarters. An' then you can tell your Brigadier that I want to talk to 'im. 'Bout how you lot carried me out here without letting me get back home. 'Bout how you lot might've caused my friends an' family to starve. 'Bout how you..."

"Rose?"

No.

Not here. He couldn't be here.

"Rose! It is you!"

She turned toward the voice and felt her mouth drop in shock. It was her dad. But she had just left him. In the city. With the Sontarans.

She looked at Yates suspiciously. No. It couldn't be. What if she wasn't really with UNIT? What if this was another elaborate trap and she had fallen right into it? She slowly backed away, shaking her head. "No."

"Oi! Who're you, then?" Lt. Colonel Yates aimed his rifle at her dad.

Wisely, Pete Tyler slowed to a stop. Holding up his hands in a gesture of submission, he replied, "Pete Tyler. I'm her dad."

"My father's dead," she snarled and turned away.

"Yates! What's going on here?" Colonel Benton asked once he apparently surveyed the situation.

"Domestic spat, I think, sir," Yates replied.

"And another unauthorised visitor, I take it? Right. Well, take them inside. We'll deal with them both later. Yeager brought in two intruders earlier today. Obviously he missed one."

"Sir," Yates replied. "You heard the man. C'mon, inside." He gestured pointedly with his weapon, though he didn't aim it at her.

And they were going to just let her father – the traitor – waltz inside UNIT headquarters? Just like that? The idiots. "He's a traitor. Joined the Sontarans. Decided to be their lackey. An' you're gonna just let him walk into your headquarters? Smart men, you lot. I'm impressed."

Both soldiers stilled. "That true?" Benton asked.

Pete shrugged.

What were the soldiers expecting? Her dad to admit it? If this was the last great hope of the human race, God help the human race. "Like he'd admit it? With a weapon aimed at 'im?" She shook her head in disbelief.

Benton's voice dropped to a threatening growl as he replied. "That's enough, miss. I don't care who's telling the truth and who isn't. You two are under arrest. The Brigadier'll sort it later."

Yates' sympathy for her seemed to have evaporated, as had Benton's. Of course, she had contributed to that. She had acted like a spoiled child. She had been stupid. She shouldn't have insulted them. There would've been other ways of convincing them of the truth. Now she was under arrest. Protective custody had gained another notch.

This time the custody wasn't for her protection, but for theirs.

Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.

And it had started out as a good day.

"Move." Yates ordered.

She moved.

Their journey inside was spent in silence. She wondered about her father's muteness. She would've expected him to protest against their treatment, but he kept shooting her strange, almost wounded, looks instead. What did he want from her? Forgiveness? Acceptance? Death?

She had better things to worry about than what was on her dad's mind. Like how to escape, what to do now, and how to avoid getting herself into more trouble than she was already in. The commune would starve. Sure, Shareen or one of the others could go scouting for food, but she was better at it than they were. She was needed there.

Here, she was nothing but a prisoner.

A hallway, around a corner, and a set of double-doors later, they apparently arrived at their destination. Two soldiers – grunts, she suspected – stood guard in front of an inconspicuous door. One of them turned toward them and did a double-take as his eyes rested upon her.

"What? How'd she get out? Only the man was escorted to see the Brigadier, not her. Impossible!"

"You've seen her before?" Yates asked from behind her. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her neck. What was going on?

"Yeah. I mean, yes sir. In there." The soldier gestured toward the door he was guarding with a flick of his wrist. "With the man we caught earlier. Claimed he was the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" Benton seemed to latch onto the name, as if it meant something important to him. Something that he had dared not hope for or believe to be true.

She had never been more confused.

"I dunno, sir. That's what he said. Bambera'll deal with him." The soldier shot her another confused look. "How'd she escape? I haven't been off duty since getting assigned this post."

"She was in London," Benton said.

"London? She doesn't have a twin sister, does she?"

"She can talk for herself, y'know. An' no. I'm an only child." She glared at the officers, pointedly ignoring her father. "An' that's a good thing."

"Uncanny resemblance." The soldier shook his head. "Assume you want these two held until Bambera'll see them, too, sir?"

"That's correct, Corporal."

"Right." The Corporal opened the door, and someone – Benton, she assumed – gave her a helpful push inside.

She stumbled into the room, barely catching herself against the bed frame before she fell. Bloody idiots. Thinking she had a twin sister? Stupid.

That was when she heard the startled gasp of another woman. A gasp that sounded strangely familiar.

She couldn't help herself.

She lifted her head and turned toward the sound.

And stared into a reflection-that-was-not-a-reflection.

If she were a movie heroine, this would be the part where her reflection tried to kill her.

Instead, her reflection gaped at her and spoke.

"Oh god. I don't think I was supposed to see you - the Doctor'll kill me!"

* * *

Nostalgia was an interesting emotion, he decided. If he closed his eyes, he could just about imagine old friends walking down the hallway. The Brigadier, Jo, Liz, Benton, Yates, Sarah Jane...

There were quite a few memories associated with the old headquarters. Then again, he had spent most of one life and the beginning of another here. Vaguely he wondered who was in charge of this operation. Alistair? Bambera?

The thought of seeing Alistair again, even if the timeline was mucked up, caused an immediate grin to cross his face. He could even imagine his old friend's reaction – provided, of course, that his alternate self wasn't lurking about. However, he had yet to sense the presence of another Time Lord. Bit worrying, that.

"Go on, then." The soldier's words startled him from his recollections and he realised that he must've been standing in front of the door for at least a minute without moving. "The Brigadier's waiting for you."

"Oh good. Hate to disappoint, me. Better say hello." He favoured the soldier with a cheeky grin before he opened the door and stepped inside.

He scanned the room automatically, cataloguing the minor differences between when he had last been within the office and now. The computer was new, as was the large situation map that was tacked onto the wall. From the map, he could tell that the war was not going well for the humans. The 'red' Sontaran territory overwhelmed the 'blue,' and in months – if not weeks – they would be overrun.

Well, that was what he was for. The Doctor: sorting messes a specialty. Though, in this case, he'd be fixing the timeline. No more Sontarans, no more war. Simple. Easy. Provided, of course, he could find out where Time went pear-shaped.

He continued looking about the room, pausing when he spotted a form half-hidden by the shadow of the bookcase.

Brigadier Winifred Bambera stepped into the light. He well remembered that she had always been a hard woman, but now she seemed even harder. She looked at him without any sense of recognition. Instead, her expression was sceptical. "Strange. You certainly don't look like the Doctor."

"I don't?" he asked. "What do I look like?" It might explain it if a younger him was traipsing about, but no. That wouldn't be the case. If there were another version of him here, he'd know it. He'd sense it. There was nothing. Nothing at all.

Bambera looked strangely smug, as if she had caught him in a lie. "Dead."

Well, at least that explained where the other version of himself had got to. The other him was dead. Wasn't that just fantastic? "How?"

The Brigadier shook her head. "Not so fast, whoever you are. If you can convince me that you're who you say you are I'll tell you. So start talking."

He wasn't used to having to defend his identity. He was the Doctor. The definite article. However, he could see her point. She thought he was dead – ah, he hated warped timelines. Right. "How much has Alistair told you about me? About who I've been and what I've done with him around?"

"Enough."

She was rather helpful, wasn't she? He shot her an exasperated look. "Yetis, Autons, Daleks, Cybermen, and Silurians. Could go into internal protocols for UNIT, but that could be a bit trying. Or I could go into financials - I never did cash a paycheque. Imagine the back pay owed me now. Already showed you my badge – at least, I handed it over but haven't seen it since. It's the genuine article. Like me."

She still looked sceptical. "You could've discovered those names through research."

"Then talk to Alistair. Or let me talk to him," he suggested. His old friend could sort the identity problem and then he could get about sorting the rest.

Bambera's expression changed to one of grief. "I can't. Alistair's dead."

It felt as if the world's spin had faltered – or was that just him? Oh, he knew his friend would die. All things did. "When?"

"Three years ago. The Sontarans attacked his estate as he was evacuating Doris." She looked away from him and sighed.

"Damn," he breathed. This wasn't getting his identity determined, much as he'd like to grieve for his friend. That could come later. After all, once this timeline was fixed, Alistair would still be alive. Or so he hoped. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "That's war."

"How about Benton or Yates? They know me. Or knew me."

Winifred Bambera looked at him intently for a moment before nodding. "Very well, Doctor-if-that's-who-you-are. I'll call in Yates. Then, we can see if you really are who you say you are."

"Oh, I am," he replied with a grin.

She did not bother to answer. Instead, she picked up the phone and asked for Yates to be sent to her office.

He could well remember the bounce that had always been in Yates' step, the wide grin he had for anyone he met in the halls, and his penchant for borrowing items from his lab without asking. It would be good to see him again.

A few minutes later, the door opened again to admit a familiar face. Older, yes, but that was only to be expected. However, he still had that same bounce in his step. That same grin.

"Brigadier? You asked for me?" Yates' voice was deeper than he remembered, but it was still unmistakably him.

"I did, Colonel. This man says he's the Doctor and that you'd be able to help identify him." Bambera gestured toward him.

Cap – Colonel, he corrected himself – Yates scrutinized his appearance, however there was no flicker of recognition.

Well, he could sort that. He smiled disarmingly. "Still terrorizing the scientific advisor's lab? Making cocoa over the Bunsen burner?"

The soldier's jaw dropped with an audible snap. "Doctor?"

He grinned. "Hello."

"How're you here? I mean...you're dead." Yates' brow furrowed in confusion.

"That seems to be a theme going around. Everyone thinks I'm dead, but no one tells me why they think that. Or how."

"Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart found you. Well, your body. In a sewer by the London Eye in '05. Assumed it was you because of the TARDIS. The Brigadier didn't want to leave the body, so we dragged it with us. That was right before we blew up the place," the Colonel replied. "Autopsy found your hearts later."

The London Eye? Ah. The Nestene Consciousness. Which probably meant that Rose wasn't with him, this him. So the Autons got the upper hand and killed him. Five times. Wasn't that just fantastic? Poor bloke didn't even get to enjoy himself. See the sights, kiss complete strangers, and travel the universe with one Rose Tyler. Would it be considered selfish to pity himself? Well, the other him. Semantics would give him a headache yet.

"You're buried in Alistair's garden," Bambera said. Her hard expression had softened now. Finally she had accepted him. Finally he could get work done.

That was when her words registered. "I'm buried in Alistair's garden? Rather, the other me?"

Yates nodded. "The Brigadier insisted. That's where he and Doris are, too."

He wasn't certain how to react. The Brigadier would do that for him? No. No time to get sentimental. He had work to do. He needed to sort this mess. "So, now that you know that I'm me, let's get on with it. Fact is Time's mucked up. Seriously mucked up. The Sontarans shouldn't be here and I shouldn't be dead. Which means something's changed. And I need your help to figure out what that is."

"But, Doctor, how can you be here? If you're dead?"

"I'm not me. Well, I am me, just not the me from here. This universe. I'm the Doctor from an alternate universe. At least, I'm assumin' it's an alternate universe to this one, 'cause if it isn't then we're in more trouble than I thought." He all but collapsed onto one of the chairs in the office and regarded the others thoughtfully.

"So, why don't we start from the beginning? Right now I know of three, no four, things that are not true in my universe in 2009. One, Pete Tyler is alive. Two, I'm dead. Three, the Sontarans invaded. Four, Alistair's dead." He ticked off each on his fingers. "That's not how it's supposed to go. Which means the time change's from sometime before or during 1987. 'Cause that's when Pete Tyler was supposed to die."

"Who's Pete Tyler?" Bambera asked.

"Rose's father. My companion. Though it seems she wasn't..."

Yates interrupted him. "Rose? Rose Tyler? Brigadier, I just brought in a Rose Tyler from London."

His hearts began to sink. Knowing his luck, and Murphy's ongoing vendetta against him, he knew exactly where the alternate Rose was. One touch and the problem with time would be a whole lot worse. "Where'd you put her, Yates?"

"With the other prisoners..."

He muttered a colourful Gallifreyan curse. Figured. "They need to be separated. The alternate Rose and my Rose. They can't touch…Oh, hell with this." He stood and headed for the door. "I'll be right back."

"Doctor!" Bambera protested.

He did the only thing he could do. He ignored her and all but ran out of the office.

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4: A Tangled Web

**Chapter 4: A Tangled Web**

The staring contest had started shortly after notRose's outburst. It was a good likeness, she'd give them that. However, they weren't fooling her. NotRose was younger than she was, at least by a few years, and looked healthy. Healthy! If they had wanted to mimic her, they could've at least tried to get it right. Her hair hadn't been that shade of blonde in years.

Bloody idiots. Thinking she had a twin. She certainly knew the truth. She knew that this notRose was an impostor. She'd probably been created by her father as a part of another of his twisted schemes to try and get UNIT sympathy. Though how having a copy of her would do that, she didn't know.

She knew that notRose was just that. Not her.

"So, who're you then?" she asked, folding her arms before her.

"Er, what?" notRose asked, blinking as if she weren't expecting a question. Not only did she not look like her, but she was dim too. Wonderful.

"I said, who are you?" She enunciated the words carefully.

"I'm...oh, bollocks, I can't tell you who I am." NotRose mimicked her position, only against the opposite wall.

"You can't tell me who you are," she repeated in disbelief. "Why not? You look like me, but you're not me. So tell me who you are!"

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" she scoffed before whirling on her father. "This one of your schemes? Tryin' to get UNIT sympathy with 'er or something? Or are you tryin' to learn something from me? Like where the commune is?"

Pete Tyler shook his head, holding his hands up in denial. "No, I didn't do this."

"Like I'd believe that." He was a liar. A traitor. She knew he had something to do with it.

"Um, look. Can't we just, I don't know, wait until the Doctor gets back before accusations start flyin'?" notRose asked.

She ignored the other woman. "What's it all for, Dad? What's the point of makin' her up to look like me? She's not even a good me. Lookin' for brownie points with the Sontarans or somethin'?"

"Dad had nothing to do with this," notRose interrupted.

That was when it registered. Dad. She called him "Dad." "Isn't that takin' the game a little too far? Pretendin' he's your father? You really found a nutter, Dad."

"I had nothing to do with it, Rose. She's not quite you according to the Doctor." Pete said in an attempt to mollify her.

It wouldn't work. "Doctor this, Doctor that. Doctor who?"

"My friend," notRose said. "He can sort this."

"An' what the hell's that supposed to mean? He's your friend, eh? Can sort it, huh? I can sort it for you, whoever you really are. Not quite me. What's that supposed to mean? You're obviously a nutter, thinkin' this Doctor friend can sort it. An' you, Dad? You're the biggest loony in this room. What were you tryin' to accomplish?"

"Nothing!" Pete had apparently lost his temper, but she felt no sympathy. "Nothing, Rose. Got it? I had nothing to do with this. She –" he pointed at notRose "– just showed up with the Doctor. In a blue police box back in the warehouse. I didn't conjure her. She just appeared."

"In a blue police box. In a warehouse." She repeated his words and each one dripped with scorn. "Have you heard yourself? For all I know, you've finally lost it. Completely lost it. Then again, working for the Sontarans did that to you, didn't it? Traitor."

"It's not like that," Pete protested.

"Isn't it?" she asked.

"Would you jus' stop it? Let's just wait for..."

"The Doctor?" she asked, whirling on her look-alike. "Can't make decisions for yourself, can ya?"

"Would you just SHUT UP?" notRose shouted. "This isn't helpin'."

No one talked to her like that. No one. Her expression twisted into a snarl as she stalked forward, one finger outstretched to tap notRose in the chest. "Where is he now, whoever you are? Your Doctor?"

As if her question summoned him, the door banged open with enough force to leave it rattling in its frame. A tall man with closely cropped dark hair and startlingly blue eyes hurried inside to interpose himself between her and notRose. "Stop."

Just one word. He said one word and she did. She stopped.

"You can't touch Rose. Either of you. The timeline's mucked up enough as it is. So, introductions." He grinned maniacally at her before he continued. "I'm the Doctor. Nice to meet you, Rose. You've already met yourself. Now, question and answer time. Rose isn't exactly you, and you're not exactly her. Pete's not quite her father, but he is yours. Oh, and this wasn't supposed to happen. There. All answered? Good. Just remember, don't touch her."

She finally found her voice. "Why?"

"You don't want to know. Rose?" His brow furrowed as he looked between her and notRose. "Well, my Rose. We've got a meeting to get to. Sorry to interrupt the family spat, but you understand."

She grabbed his arm. "Oh, no, you don't. You don't get to swan off after sayin' that. Just what the hell is going on around here? I want explanations."

He stilled at her touch and frowned. "This isn't how it's supposed to go. Any of this. You're not supposed to be you, Rose. An' the Sontarans never should've invaded. I should've prevented this, but I didn't. The alternate version of me's dead. An' I need to find out what happened. That's what's going on, Rose Tyler. An' that's all you're going to get."

"That's not good enough," she growled. Alternate versions? Not how it was 'supposed to go?' Did he think he was on _Star Trek_? Fine. She could play along. "Who's she, then, Doctor? Me? A me that would've existed had things gone as they were 'supposed to?' Who're you to make that decision? What if you're wrong? What if _this_ is how it's 'supposed to go?'"

"I don't accept that," he immediately replied. However, she could see a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

"Why not? What right do you 'ave to..."

"Leave him alone," notRose said, stepping around the Doctor and sliding her hand into his. "This isn't how it's supposed to go. He said. He knows."

"_How_ can he know? Tell me that? How can he say how things 're supposed to go?"

"Because I do," he said, neatly slipping free of her grip. "Because if I don't do something, you lot are going to be nothing more than a memory an' that's not what's supposed to happen."

"That's not an answer!" Did he have to speak in half-riddles and these strange half-truths? Listening to him was like trying to interpret the deeper meaning of a motto from a cheap cracker.

He smiled grimly. "It is. You just don't know it yet."

"So what're you going to do, Doctor? Pretend you're Mister Spock an' alter history to suit your needs? Your desires? Tell me this, Doctor, if you're so used to playing God for us – where've you been? Where were you when I lost m' Dad to the Sontarans? Where were you when the first city fell to the invaders? Where were you when I watched my city burn because of the fighting? Where were you when people in my commune starved to death? Why wait? Why now?"

His blue eyes reflected a fathomless despair and she found herself regretting her words. NotRose glared at her as she gently touched his jacket-clad arm. "I didn't know."

If notRose could've touched her, she suspected that her hands would've been around her throat. The protectiveness made her curious, much as it angered her. That she could've had that, could've had a world without the Sontarans, without the constant fear, rankled. She could've had that. She could've been notRose. She could've been something more.

But she wasn't.

"Dad's still here. He's right over here. So how could you say you lost 'im?" notRose asked, deliberately changing the course of the conversation away from the Doctor.

"Because he's not my Dad. Not anymore. He's a traitor."

Pete Tyler finally spoke, finally protested. She had almost forgotten that he was there.

"I've 'ad enough of this! 'S time you knew the truth, sweetheart. An' you're gonna listen for once. 'Cause I'm not a traitor by choice. I did it for you. They were gonna kill you, Rose. That day, three years ago, just after Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart died. We were runnin' back to shelter, avoidin' the roadblocks, an' getting' shot. Remember?"

She remembered. Like it was yesterday, she remembered. She nodded.

"We were caught by that Sontaran patrol. I didn't know what to do. They didn't keep anyone under twenty-one. They would've killed ya, so...I gave myself up. Told 'em that I could help 'em if they let you go. An', while I distracted them, you got away. I didn't. I stayed. 'Cause I knew that if I didn't, they'd go after you. You'd be next, an' I couldn't bear that. It was better to be a traitor than to lose you."

No. That couldn't be true. She shook her head in denial. "No. That's not true. You led them to our shelter. You showed them where we were hiding!"

His expression turned pained as he ran his hand across his greying hair. "I didn't have a choice, Rose. I'd hoped that you'd have enough time to warn them, an' you did. You did. 'S not your fault that some of them wouldn't leave."

"Yes it is! We ran, an' when I turned, I saw you. I saw you standing over the rubble of what once was our shelter. That's when I knew. I knew you'd turned traitor. My own Dad." She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the need for some sort of comfort even if it was contrived.

"That's a typical Sontaran strategy, Rose," the Doctor said, his tone gentle. "'S also how they keep the loyalty of those who serve them. It's a lesson. Fail and die. Fail and join them."

She glared at him even as she accepted the truth of his words. There was something about him, even if he spoke of alternate worlds and lived in his own version of _Star Trek_, that made her trust him. Made her _want_ to trust him. To believe him. Her carefully constructed idea of what must've happened to her father was falling apart.

Maybe...maybe her dad hadn't had a choice.

"I tried. God knows I did. Did little things, small things, to try an' protect the commune – to protect you. But they got suspicious. Those Sontarans that were with me? In the warehouse? They weren't support. They were guards. I was as much a prisoner as you were," Pete admitted quietly.

She needed to sit down or brace herself against something, anything. Everything that she had thought. Everything that she had _known_ to be true had been a lie. She'd deluded herself. Deluded her Mum, deluded everyone. Now that she thought about it, it should've been obvious.

Who was the bloody idiot in this situation? She was. Just her. She found the wall with her questing fingers and leaned against it, letting its solid strength bolster her own. The words, when they came, were whispered. "'M sorry, Dad. So, so sorry...I didn't know."

With a faint rustle of fabric, he was there. Her dad. He wrapped his arms around her and she remembered what it had been like. Before the Sontarans, before the university and their lives had grown apart. Just her and her Dad.

She embraced him, burying her face in his shoulder as she mumbled apology after apology.

"'S all right, Rose. 'S okay. 'M here, an' I'm not goin' anywhere."

A muffle sob caught her attention and she lifted her face from her dad's shoulder. NotRose was enfolded in the Doctor's arms – she was the one crying. She could faintly hear her alternate self's words.

"But he does. Oh god, Doctor, he does."

* * *

He felt his hearts break as he heard her muffled words. Silently he cursed the fates that had led them to this point. She shouldn't have to see this, shouldn't have to suffer like this. Seeing the bittersweet reunion had fractured her already fragile emotions and he didn't know what to do. What could he do?

She had found her dad. And, if he had his way – if he fixed the timeline as he should – she'd lose him all over again. It was his turn to apologise.

The alternate Rose was right. What possible right did he have to deem who should live and who should die? He had done it before. The alternate Silurian-controlled Earth was one glaring example of what he had done. Best of reasons, that. Saved the world, prevented the premature heat-death of the universe, but at what cost? Millions had died on Earth alone.

Gallifrey was another.

What price would his actions bring? Why did every one of his actions always result in a body-count? Was this his impact upon the universe? He saved the world, saved the universe, saved a person with blood-red hands.

She trembled in his arms and he closed his eyes in sympathy. Oh, Rose. What had he done? What was he about to do? But, if he didn't do anything. If he allowed this alternate reality – or, as he was swiftly beginning to suspect this altered timeline – to continue, what would that mean?

The end of the human race.

The end of Rose. His Rose. The bright, happy, intelligent, brave woman in his arms would be no more. She and her alternate self could co-exist for a finite time. Not forever. Not in the same timeline. And, when time was up, the Rose that belonged to the timeline – this timeline – would remain.

Without humans, without those pesky, endearing, cold, loving, warm, feisty, humorous, daring, adventurous apes mucking about the universe, what was it all for? Without _Rose_, what was it all for? No. He had no choice. Much as it would hurt her, and through her him, he had no choice at all.

Time to sort this mess.

"You all right?" he asked softly, ignoring the similar discussion across the room. For the moment, his entire universe was focused upon her. His Rose.

"Will be," she replied. "'M sorry, Doctor. Dunno what happened there."

"Don't apologise," he told her, brushing his hand against her cheek. "I'm the one that should apologise. For all of this. 'S my fault."

"No, it's not." Rose shook her head. "'S not your fault, Doctor. You couldn't 'ave known. An' yeah, it's hard, but we've gotta do it. You're right. 'S not right, an' you can fix it. We can fix it. 'Cause if we don't, who will?"

What had he done to deserve her? Even though he knew, as she did, that she'd lose her Dad all over again, she was going to let him. "You sure?"

She smiled faintly. "Wouldn't say so if I wasn't. Yeah, it'll hurt. But there's no choice. For us, for the planet, or anyone."

She understood. In that moment, she knew what it was like to be him. He tightened his embrace and then released her, letting one of his hands slide down her arm to entwine their fingers.

"That's it exactly." He grinned brightly and tugged at her hand. Time to sort this mess.

"'S been nice to meet ya, Rose, Pete. But we've got a meeting to get to, an' you two 've got three years to catch up on. Have fun an' don't stay up too late." He waved his free hand at them and started for the door.

"Who are you, Doctor?" the other Rose asked. "Really?"

His answer was one that he often used. After all, several lifetimes' worth of answers couldn't be wrong. "A friend." And, with that as his exit line, he led his Rose outside.

"So what is goin' on, Doctor? When'd time change? An' what caused it?" she asked as they walked down the corridor back to Bambera's office. This time no one bothered to challenge them nor were they escorted. He wasn't certain if he felt pleased or insulted by that.

"That's what we're gonna try to find out. We know, at least, that the change 'appened sometime during or before 1987."

"Why then?" she asked. Before he could answer, understanding dawned. "'Cause of my dad."

"Yeah. So we've only got a couple of millennia to search for our answers. Easy as pie." It'd just take a while. A long while. A while that they couldn't afford to spend.

She looked sceptical. "Right."

"Exactly." He beamed.

"So how're we gonna _find_ those answers? 'Cause we don't have a couple of millennia to search for 'em?"

"That's the easy part. Narrow it down," he said as they reached Bambera's office. Without bothering to knock, he opened the door.

The Brigadier and Colonel Yates looked up at his entrance and he grinned. "Miss me?"

Bambera sighed. "Doctor." His name was a warning.

"Right. So, introductions redux. Rose Tyler, this is Brigadier Winifred Bambera and that's Colonel Yates. Yates, Bambera meet Rose. There. All done. Now, let's start narrowin' down the problem. What do we know that's different? What isn't right, Rose?"

"M' Dad's still alive." She lifted one finger.

He nodded. "That's one."

She held up another finger. "The Sontaran's 'ave invaded."

"Two."

"You're not 'ere."

"Three."

She was silent for a long moment before she shrugged helplessly. "I can't think of anythin' else."

"Right. Well, here's four: Alistair's dead. An' five: UNIT's moved out of London and is based here. Six: The Nestene Consciousness was stopped by UNIT." He turned toward Bambera and smiled. "This is where you come in, Bambera. What do you remember 'bout the last time we met?"

"I remember fighting Morgaine. You, Ace, and Alistair helped to stop her. We ended up gaining an ally – Ancelyn." Her expression turned bittersweet. "He was a good man."

Was. She said was. He keyed on that fact immediately. "Was?"

"Oh. He died on the battlefield. Don't you remember?" Bambera asked.

"Seven," he whispered. Ironic, that. Seventh incarnation, seventh difference. Which meant that the effects were spreading throughout all of his incarnations.

"Well, what about Prime Ministers? Maybe somethin's different there? Like, was Margaret Thatcher PM in the late eighties?" Rose asked.

Oh, that was a smart idea. He nodded his approval and she preened.

"Thatcher?" Yates repeated. He shook his head. "She was assassinated right before the election in '79, but she would've lost anyway. Healey was PM."

"By the IRA?" Rose asked.

"What's the IRA?" Yates asked, puzzled. "No. It was the Welsh Liberation Army. Blaidd Drwg assassinated several key leaders back then."

She blinked. "The who?"

"Eight and nine. What year did Alistair initially retire and who succeeded him?" he asked.

"1980 and Colonel Joyce." Yates replied.

Alistair had retired in 1979 and was succeeded by Colonel Crichton. "That's ten." He had to go back further. Before 1980. Something that only Yates would know. Ah. Of course. "Colonel, did we face a renegade Time Lord named 'The Master?'"

"Yes. A couple of times, from what I recall. First time he tried to bring in the Daleks. You and Jo stopped him by shutting off whatever radio frequency he was using to communicate with them."

"The Daleks?" It figured. "That's eleven."

Eleven differences. Eleven major differences in the time stream, which meant that the change was from even before his time with UNIT.

Possibly even before the turn of the current century.

"Can I borrow two of your history books? Got to narrow it down further." He pointed at two of the books on the shelves. Without bothering to wait for an answer, he grabbed one and tossed it to Rose. He picked up the other and, tucking it under his arm, he grinned. "Right, back to the TARDIS. Thanks, Brigadier."

"Doctor, wait!" Bambera protested, but he ignored her.

"Good luck with the Sontaran problem. Shouldn't be long 'fore it's sorted." He looked at Rose and grinned.

She looked somewhat resigned as he uttered his next word, "Run!"

So they did.

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5: Piecing Together the Puzzle

**Chapter 5: Piecing Together the Puzzle**

The air tasted different as she drew it into her lungs, her breath coming in fast pants as they raced through the almost unoccupied corridors of the building. Before, the air had tasted normal if she could ignore the faint metallic odour of weapons and ammunition. Now something was different.

Something was wrong.

Her steps faltered as a wave of weakness washed over her. "Doc- "

She didn't have a chance to finish saying his name before he turned his head to look at her. Though his expression didn't change, his eyes reflected a mixture of worry and despair. "Hurry!"

"What's..." Her question was forgotten as he doubled his pace and she had to devote her attention to stumbling after him.

The Doctor kept pulling on her hand, encouraging her to keep up her speed. He kept glancing back at her, and each time the worry seemed to double in his eyes. Something was wrong.

She knew it.

He knew it, too, but wasn't telling her.

The weakness grew and she stumbled again. The edges of her vision seemed to darken, washing out the colours as if the universe was preparing to sneeze. Only the Doctor remained in full Technicolor.

Only the Doctor...

She felt him grasp her arms and the universe snapped back into focus. His concerned face loomed large in her sight and he lifted her into his arms. "Hold on, Rose," he said. "Hold on."

He ran faster. Dodging through doors and down hallways. Only the touch of his hands upon her body seemed real.

Nothing else did.

It was like a dream, she realised. Only the Doctor was real. Nothing else was, or could be.

She knew that something was wrong. Something was terribly, irrevocably wrong. She could tell it was from the frantic look in his eyes and the desperate clutch of his hands against her body. However, she couldn't ask. She couldn't distract him.

He would sort it. But, to do that, he needed to concentrate on running. She tightened her grip on the history books in her arms and their sharp edges pricked at her skin. Anything not touching her seemed out of focus, distant and blurred.

What was happening to her?

"We're almost there," he said, cradling her close to his chest. He seemed to know what was happening, but he wouldn't say.

As his grip tightened, her vision sharpened once more. The world wavered between reality and a dream, and she turned her face into his shoulder. It was too disorienting to look away from the Doctor. Nausea built within her, even as she felt herself grow weaker. "Doc-"

She felt him fish into his pocket, somehow juggling her and the books at the same time, and withdraw his key. She heard, rather than felt, him open the door and step inside.

And everything changed.

Strength returned to her limbs and she sighed as her earlier weakness faded away. Now their desperate run to the TARDIS seemed the dream as reality snapped into focus. The Doctor lowered her gently to the ground but, before she could say anything, she found herself engulfed in an almost desperate embrace.

The books were pressed uncomfortably against her chest, their edges digging into her ribs but she didn't care. Something had almost happened to her. She knew it from his hug and, as he drew away, she could see it in his eyes.

"You all right?" he asked, staring intently at her.

"Yeah, 'm fine. Doctor, what _was_ that?"

He dropped his gaze and shrugged. "Dunno. The Sontarans, perhaps. But we've got to get to the library. Evening of research and then sorting out this mess of a timeline. Should be fun."

She knew him well enough to know when he was lying. She could push him into telling her the truth. She could do that.

But she wouldn't.

The last time she had seen his eyes look that haunted was after the Dalek, when he had thought her dead. She couldn't do that to him.

Instead, she slipped her hand into his and entwined their fingers. "'Kay. Then let's go."

He shot her a grateful grin and led the way deeper into the TARDIS.

* * *

Temporal grace.

Never before had he been as grateful for that aspect of his beautiful, wonderful, fabulous ship. He had almost lost her.

Two seconds.

That was all that she'd had left as he had been fumbling with the lock.

Two seconds later, two seconds slower, and she'd have been gone. Ripped apart, dissipated into her component atoms, because Time abhorred duplication. Of the two Roses in the current universe, only the 'true' Rose – the Rose from this Time – could survive. It was not his Rose. She'd almost died. He'd tried, but even his abilities as a Time Lord to drive back Time were finite.

He'd almost lost her.

Which meant that his gravest fear was true.

This was not an alternate universe.

This was a divergent timeline. The "true" timeline had been torn asunder because of some change in the past.

Now history was re-setting. Time was re-setting, picking apart the pieces that should and shouldn't exist, and fixing them as it knew how. The only thing keeping him, and the TARDIS, safe was that he was a Time Lord. Gallifrey, and by extension himself, didn't exist. Not anymore.

He was outside Time, beyond its petty effects and manipulations. Gallifrey was gone, destroyed, turned to rubble and ashes. His people were gone, dead and destroyed along with his planet. Everyone except for him. Time had granted him that boon. He was Time's Champion. Beyond it. Above it.

He couldn't be erased, tied into a tidy parcel and tossed out with the rest of the rubbish from the timeline that should be but wasn't. Rose didn't have that protection.

He tightened his hold on her hand, needing to reassure himself that she was still with him. She was alive. They had made it in time.

The library doors groaned in protest as he swung them open. The last time he'd been inside had been in his previous life and he suppressed the memory of his frantic search for something, anything, that could've prevented the destruction of Gallifrey.

Books were powerful tools. They could even be weapons in the wrong hands. But that day, oh, so long ago, they'd failed him.

They wouldn't fail him again.

He left Rose by one of the heavy oak tables, directing her to take a seat while he sorted through the books. Thousands of books lined the bookcases – memories and writings from worlds that never existed, had existed, or might exist.

He had organised the shelves in his eighth life, sorting them by planet and author. He'd split the task between himself and Charley, just before he had been called to Gallifrey. It had been the last moment of peace he'd known.

Shaking off the memories, he found his 'Earth' section. Unsurprisingly, it was the largest in his collection. He traced the spines of first edition Chaucer, Shakespeare, Cervantes, Clarke, and Bradbury books. The historical...ah, there they were. He selected two of the most detailed histories and carried them to the table. It'd do for a start, at least.

"Right. Easiest thing to trace is political history. The movers and shakers of history, that sort of thing. Might want to start with Prime Ministers. Trace it back in Bambera's books and compare with one of these." He slid one of the books across the table and tapped the cover.

"An' what're you gonna look for?" Rose asked.

"Anything else. Everything else. Fast reader, me. 'Sides, might be something in my memories that can help us. Been around the block a time or two, y'know." He grinned at her as he flipped open his book.

"You're so full of it!" she laughed.

She had no idea how happy he was to hear her say that. That she could say that. How glad he was that she was still alive, still with him. His grin widened. "Sort of, yeah."

A comfortable silence filled the room, broken only by the shuffle of papers, and a muttered word as they read the books. He knew just how daunting a project this could turn out to be. The source of the time change could be as simple as a choice – someone decided to turn left, when they should've turned right. It could be as complicated as someone dying when they should've lived.

However, each change had effects – ripples – upon the fabric of time and space. A butterfly could flap its wings in Beijing and a hurricane could thrash the shores of Bermuda. A death where there should've been none might influence political parties, writings, or children in such a way to alter the course of history.

Time was delicate. It could stretch and bend, yes. But it could easily break. That was why he, and the other Time Lords, had had several hundred years' worth of training. Claiming Lordship over as fickle a subject as Time mandated responsibility. It mandated care.

Yet, he suspected that he'd failed. A moment's weakness, a lapse in his responsibility, and something had changed. It might not have been him; it might not have even been Rose. But somehow, some way, he'd failed.

Some Time Lord he was turning out to be.

"Doctor! Found something." Rose's excited voice interrupted his melancholic thoughts. "Ramsay MacDonald wasn't PM. He should've been PM according to this book in 1924 an' from 1929 to 1935. But in this other book it's like he never existed."

"Never existed," he repeated. "Is he mentioned in the book? In some other context?"

She frowned as she flipped back to the index. She seemed to have spotted something as she shifted through the pages. "Yeah, he's mentioned almost like an afterthought. Wrote a pamphlet that protested against something called the Fabian Society."

"Fabian Society. Fabian Society. Why's that familiar?" he asked as he flipped through the pages of Bambera's history book. "Ah. Here it is. Fabian Society. British socialist intellectual movement that – in this current timeline – advocated change through more violent means. Helped form the basis for the Labour Party. Betcha that MacDonald was sponsored by the Fabian Society in our timeline..."

His grin widened as he found it in the 'real' history book. "Yes! He was. Narrows it down. Rose, look for the Fabian Society in Bambera's book. Must've been something that caused it to change."

He tapped his chin as he considered what they had learned. The Fabian Society had promoted change by working with the system in their timeline. Here it'd become more violent. Why? What was different?

"It says here that it was created in 1872..." Rose said as she traced the words with her finger.

"1872?" He flipped through the 'real' history book. "It should've been created in 1884."

"Also says that it was created to protest against the defeated Trade Union Act of 1871."

"Narrows it down," he muttered. "So why'd the Act fail?"

Rose shrugged helplessly. "Doesn't say. Just that the Act didn't pass through the House of Commons."

He shook his head. Anything might've caused that. Anything at all. "Keep looking into that. See if you can figure out why it didn't pass. I'll see what else there might be."

"'Kay," she replied and returned to her search.

Political history was easy. Simple to spot changes there. It was harder to trace expansion – empires could be built and fall within a day. The question was had something changed? Within, say, the British Empire? Had India, Australia, South Africa, Hong Kong, or the Americas been under Imperial control? Military conquests, battles won or lost, generals promoted or demoted, a battle fought on land that had never seen war? Anything could've changed.

He suspected that he was missing something. Something fundamental. Something that he should've guessed from the moment Rose had mentioned Ramsay MacDonald. How far back did this change ripple? Where was the source?

Time travel must've been the instigator. A traveller disturbed the environment, interacted with the wrong person, something.

Question was who? Him? Rose? Or was it one of those blundering idiots from the so-called Time Agency?

What could've happened? What could've changed to cause this altered history? It could have something to do with what Rose had found. But it might not. Could be any time. Any century. Any _country_. He just knew what was happening in Britain. Hadn't even stopped to ask about the rest of the world. Stupid, come to think of it. But time hadn't exactly been on his side. Any delay and Rose would've been gone.

All of history was at stake and he was contemplating possibilities. What ifs. He shook himself irritably. He needed to concentrate. The answer was in the books – had to be.

They just had to find it.

* * *

She'd never thought of herself as a researcher before. Normally their brand of adventuring never required research. Book research, that was. More brainstorming. It was find a problem, the Doctor (or, in some cases, herself) finds a solution, and they implement it. Sprinkle that liberally with running, megalomaniacs, and some sort of jail-time and that was a normal day in the TARDIS.

This time was different. History had changed. Her Dad was alive. The Doctor was dead. Was it petty of her to consider that if she had to choose, if she had the choice of one of them to live, she'd pick the Doctor? Not just for herself – though that was a large part of it – but for everyone, everything.

She'd seen a world without the Doctor. She'd seen her alternate self without him. She'd seen a planet ravaged by alien invaders, her Dad turned traitor to save her alternate self, and the other Rose's haunted eyes. She didn't like that world. She never wanted to see, to experience, a world like that.

A world without the Doctor?

No. Never. She bit her lower lip as she flipped past pages that described the history of British trade unions. There had to be something here, something they could use.

She almost missed it the first time. A name that was prominent in the 'real' history book was strangely missing in the other. Frederic Harrison. Excitement built within her as she focused on the pages. In one world, he'd lived. The other he'd died. In one world, her world, he'd been one of the most influential voices that sponsored the Trade Union Act of 1871. In the other, he'd not been there, hadn't lobbied for the Act and it had failed.

That was when she spotted it.

Frederic Harrison had died in 1869. _Christmas Eve_ 1869.

In Cardiff.

"Oh god," she whispered. Dread rushed through her as she suddenly understood what must've happened. They must've done something. Had to. It was too coincidental. Too obvious not to be true.

Her words must've caught the Doctor's attention as she felt his eyes upon her. "What?"

She met his gaze, her expression grave. "I think I found it. Doctor, in the 'real' world, a man named Frederic Harrison sponsored the Trade Union Act of 1871. In this world, he died in 1869." And now for the biggest blow. "On Christmas Eve. In Cardiff."

She gripped the edges of the book, feeling the sharp edges dig into her palms. "God, Doctor, what have we done?"

His expression was equally grim as he replied. "I don't know."

_To be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6: Detective Work

_Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter, but has been misbehaving for me over the past few days. Will be posting the rest over the course of the next three days._

_

* * *

_**  
Chapter 6: Detective Work**

It would have to come back to Cardiff. Wasn't enough that he'd almost destroyed history by aiding the Gelth. Nope. He had to destroy it right and proper in some as of yet unknown manner. Saved the world and destroyed it at the same time. Must be a new record for him.

Though, it might not have been them. The Gelth had been rather noisy in announcing their presence. Blue wisps of smoke, taking over corpses, and walking the streets of Cardiff. Definitely couldn't be passed off as a bunch of students having a good time. Could've attracted some other time traveller.

Maybe.

But something told him that he couldn't pin the blame on anyone other than himself. Prerogative of the last Time Lord.

Enough. He had work to do. "Does it say what he died of?"

Rose shook her head. "No. Just says he died. That's it."

Of course it couldn't be that easy. Never was. He pushed away from the table and stood, leaving the debris of their search scattered about its surface. Easiest way to find out what had happened was to see the Cardiff constabulary. Early January1870 should do it.

"Only one thing for it," he told her with a faint humourless smile. "We're goin' back to Cardiff."

She looked about as enthusiastic as he felt, but she seemed to know that they didn't have a choice. They'd narrowed it down as far as they could through the books.

Now it was time for more detective work.

He led the way back to the console room and hurried to the main controls. After he set the coordinates, he activated the engines. The low groan of the temporal rotor filled the room as they slid into the vortex. However, something was wrong.

The pitch of the engines changed, increasing to an almost screeching noise. The vortex! Of course! Oh, what an idiot he'd been. Concerned about the changes to history, he hadn't even considered what it might do – had done – to the vortex itself. They'd been lucky their first go-around. Travelling to the altered 2009, and from London to UNIT HQ. Very, very lucky.

They hadn't been travelling through space _and_ time. Now they were doing both. Now the TARDIS was being battered by the raging currents of a time storm.

"Hold on!" he shouted, gripping the console with all of his strength.

Rose did the same, stretching until she almost embraced the console.

The TARDIS shuddered, but there was nothing that he could do to ease the journey. They'd have to follow the time storm and pray that it let them arrive close to the day that he'd asked for. Pray that it wouldn't knock them off course to a different city, if not a different century or planet.

"What's happening?" Rose shouted, straining to be heard over the groaning protest of his poor ship.

"Time storm!" he replied, grimacing as the shuddering seemed to increase in tempo.

The engine pitch deepened to a low roar as the noise combined into a cacophony of sound that all but deafened him.

The TARDIS could withstand a lot of things, but she'd been torn apart before. Turned inside out, destroyed, dismantled, fractured and put back together again. It could happen again.

Might happen again.

No. It wouldn't. He wouldn't let it. He strained to reach for one of the switches. Maybe if he changed the...

The sudden silence was deafening.

The rotor had regained its normal pulse and the shuddering had stopped. It was almost as if it hadn't even happened.

"Rose? You all right?" he asked. That was when he realised that she was no longer gripping the console across from him. "Rose!"

"Yeah, 'm fine," she mumbled from the floor. "What the hell was that?"

He hurried to her side, grasping her hand. "Are you hurt?"

"Jus' my pride," she said with a wry smile, allowing him to help her to her feet. "So what was that?"

"Time storm. Rare, those, but they happen." He wouldn't tell her the truth – that the change, whatever it was, had caused it. Nor would he tell her how close they had been to being ripped apart in the vortex. There were some things that she shouldn't know, or suspect.

"Right." She shook her head. "So are we there? Cardiff?"

"January 1870 Cardiff. Should be," he replied. Hopefully, he added in his mind.

She looked at her outfit – t-shirt and jeans – and grinned. "Guess I'd better change. Be right back!"

While she was gone, he checked the scanner. Wouldn't do, after all, if they weren't in Cardiff 1870. Especially if, instead of Cardiff, they were in Melbourne or on the Eye of Orion. Thankfully, it looked like he'd got it right. Cardiff. 1870. Fantastic.

Now all he had to do was wait. What was it about humans, especially women, that made them take so long to...

All coherent thoughts fled his mind as she walked into the room.

"Didn't 'ave much of a selection this time, so don't you dare laugh." She grinned as she pointed her finger at him. The deep maroon dress was both proper and, to his mind, almost indecent. She'd wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and for that he was thankful. He couldn't be held responsible if she hadn't.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he told her. And he wouldn't. "Ready to play detective?" He crooked his elbow suggestively.

She grinned as she slid her arm through his. "Detective?"

"Sure. Best way to find out what happened. Ask the people who know. An' the constabulary kept a record of all deaths in their jurisdiction. But they wouldn't talk to just anyone, y' know." They started walking toward the door.

Rose laughed. "Never thought of you as wanting to play Sherlock Holmes."

He shook his head. "Nah. Sherlock was much better at that sort of thing. Right 'bout the correct time for him too, though he's yet to meet Watson."

"You're kidding, right? Sherlock Holmes was a real person?" Her expression wavered between shock and disbelief.

"Sure he was. Nice bloke. Bit of a know-it-all, but can't be perfect. Adds character, you know."

"Hmmm, explains a lot." A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes as she turned toward him. The very tip of her tongue poked out from between her lips as she grinned at him.

"What?"

"Your character."

He tried his best to look insulted, but the effect was marred by the smile that was threatened to escape his control. "What're you trying to say?"

"Nothing."

He laughed. "Right. Then let's get on our way, Watson. The game's afoot!" With those words, he opened the double doors of the TARDIS and stepped into 1870.

* * *

Her second view of Victorian era Cardiff was not quite as impressive as before. She'd seen the end of the world, fought off the Gelth, faced the Jagrafess, a Dalek, and plastic shop window dummies. But those adventures seemed distant now. Almost as if they'd happened to another Rose Tyler. Not her. 

Now there was just the urgency that sped their footsteps through the streets of Cardiff. No screams punctuated the day, no Gelth invasion, no Charles Dickens. Just what seemed to be a normal afternoon. Only a few people and carriages dotted the roadway, but the Doctor steered them well clear of any possible delay.

He'd told her that the constabulary was near the centre of Cardiff, close to where the Sneed and Company building used to stand. They passed the street that had led to the morgue and she stole a glance at the burnt-out husk of a building. It seemed so long ago that it'd happened, but according to one of the papers the Doctor had grabbed it'd only been two weeks relative time.

Two weeks. And in those relative weeks she'd seen so much. Done so much. But what had it all been for? She'd seen the future that should be and the future – her present – that would be if they couldn't fix it. She was swiftly learning that travelling through time, even with the Doctor, had consequences.

She just wished that she knew whether it was her fault. If she'd done it. If she'd changed the world, saved her Dad, and killed the Doctor.

"Ah. Here we go. The constabulary." The Doctor pointed at the red-brick building just ahead of them, pulling her to the side as a carriage thundered past.

"An' they're jus' going to let you see their records?" she asked. He'd find a way, always did. But she felt the need to ask, to be included. Mostly because she was frightened that it was her fault.

"Sure they will," he grinned, holding out his psychic paper.

"Doctor John Smith, Inspector, Scotland Yard," she read.

"Yup. Works every time, that. 'Cept for when it doesn't."

"An' what about me?" she asked.

"Ah. Point." His brow furrowed in thought. "You can't be my assistant. Unheard of in this era. Companion, definitely not. Friend either."

"So I'll 'ave to be your wife or daughter. Only thing that'd make sense," she suggested, though she recoiled at the thought of being passed off as his daughter.

"Daughter? Definitely not." He appeared to share her instant dislike of that idea.

"Only thing for it. I'll have to be your wife, then, won't I?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again with a faint, but helpless-seeming, shrug. "Right."

The Doctor led her up the stairs and into the bustling constabulary.

The first thing she noticed was that she was the only woman in the office. The few constables that were inside immediately deferred to her, tipping their hats as they passed her by or standing to the side to let her and the Doctor pass them.

"Can I help you, sir? Miss?" an older officer asked as he leaned against the front counter.

The Doctor flipped open his psychic paper. "Hope so. Doctor John Smith, Scotland Yard. This is my wife, Rose. Now that the introductions are over, I need to see your reports from Christmas Eve. I'm investigatin' the death of Frederic Harrison. Family's started harrassin' the Yard for details, droppin' hints of conspiracy an' the like, though the report said accident, so to appease 'em they sent me."

"Pleasure, sir. I'm Sergeant James Conway. So, Frederic Harrison?" the officer repeated thoughtfully. "Ah, yes. I think I know just where to look. Can I get you or your wife something to drink? And a chair for your wife? We can bring out one of the chairs from the Chief's office."

"No thanks, we're fine. Jus' need those papers." The Doctor smiled disarmingly and Jones nodded. The Sergeant moved deeper into the office, hopefully in search of the reports.

A few minutes later, Conway returned with a few sheets of paper. "This should be everything. We can lend you one of our interrogation rooms to look through the files. We get a bit busy in here during the later hours, and I wouldn't want your wife to see some of the people we bring in. Wouldn't be proper."

The Doctor nodded, though she burned with anger. Wouldn't be proper? What did he think she was? Some delicate...oh. Oh. Victorian era. Different time entirely. Of course they'd consider her to be delicate. Frail.

The Sergeant led them into one of the interrogation rooms. It didn't look much different from the ones that she'd seen on the telly. A table and chairs in an otherwise featureless room. Only thing missing was a two-way mirror and harsh electric lighting. "Feel free to set up in here, sir. I can get your wife a more comfortable chair if you like." Conway pulled out one of the chairs and held it for her.

"No, this is fine, Sergeant," she replied and sat down, allowing him to push her in.

"Right, then. Sir, please let us know if we can get you or your wife anything." With those words, Conway left the room and closed the door carefully behind him.

"Am I invisible or something?" she asked in aggravation. "He didn't even talk to me. 'S like I wasn't even there or somethin'."

The Doctor's expression was pained as he reached across the table to touch her hand. "I know, Rose. An' it wasn't that. 'S just the way they were these days. Women were still seen as the property of the men in their family."

"'S not right, Doctor." She shook her head as she turned her hand underneath his to grasp it. "I jus'…I don't like bein' treated like I'm invisible. I can talk for myself."

"I know. Just a little bit longer, then we'll get the timeline sorted. An' then we can go to Nestreal IV. Best known for its spas, mineral springs, an' no megalomaniacs."

That teased a smile from her lips. "No megalomaniacs? Promise?"

He grinned. "Would I lie? No, don't answer that." With his free hand, he split the papers and slid a few toward her. "'Ere, see if you can find where Harrison was when he died."

"'Kay," she said. She let him go and turned her attention to the papers. She scanned the pages and paused when she saw something that might be useful. "Says here he died in a carriage accident. Driver lost control of his 'orse at seven twenty."

"Some sort of small animal darted in front of the carriage, startling the horse." He read out loud as he, too, scanned his pages. "Ah! Here we go. Corner of Brynau Avenue and Beechwood Road. Beechwood Road, why's that familiar?" The Doctor suddenly paled. "Oh. _Oh_. That's where we landed the TARDIS."

"What _time_ did we get here?" she asked. Maybe it wasn't related to them. Maybe, but she suspected that it was. And that somehow, some way, it was her fault.

He shook his head. "Easiest way to tell is to go back there. Find out first hand. But, Rose, your past self and the past me can't see you. Can't see either of us. Anything happens, they see us or we change something,' could have devastating effects on the web of time. More than there already is, I mean."

She nodded grimly. "'Kay." She'd never seen him quite that intent, if not scared. Something about this, she suspected, was hitting a nerve. A man lived when he should've died. Her Dad had lived. But the Doctor had died. This universe's Doctor was dead and the Sontarans had invaded. That was no future. Not a future worth fighting to keep.

The Doctor gathered the papers together and stood, gesturing for her to do the same. "We'll jus' return these to Sergeant Conway an' be on our way."

"Doctor, this will fix it, right? Change things back to the way they were? Once we find out what 'appened?"

He smiled faintly. "Should do." He seemed to want to add something, but refrained.

She sighed as she followed him out of the interrogation room.

Fix the timeline. Kill her dad. Save the Doctor. Save the world. Simple, right?

Yeah.

Right.

* * *

What was it with humans and their paperwork? Sign this form. Sign that form. Blah, blah, blah. Conway had forgotten to mention the inevitable paperwork associated with his borrowing the accident report. It was surprising that these bumbling apes got through the nineteenth century, let alone the twentieth. Paperwork couldn't be abolished soon enough, though he knew that humanity would always retain its particular fondness for 'red-tape.' 

He signed one last form in an almost shapeless scrawl. "There. All done. Now, might be back later. Might not. Should 'ave enough to make the family happy. Thanks for your help, Sergeant."

"Certainly sir," Conway replied with a smile. "My pleasure. I'll put these in with the accident report. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

"Nope. Thanks, but time's a-wastin'." He grinned brightly and headed for the door with Rose at his side. "Remind me why we didn't take the back entrance?" he asked her in a soft aside.

"To be different? Can't end every official visit with running, y'know," Rose teased as they stepped out into the chilled air.

"Where's the fun in that?"

She didn't respond as they retraced their steps back to the TARDIS. What they were about to do was dangerous. Very, very dangerous. Oh, he'd met himself before. Several times, actually, during special circumstances. But he'd never met himself in his current _incarnation_ before. That was something to be avoided at all costs – even the TARDIS had fail-safes to prevent that sort of thing. In case he decided, on a whim, to be in the exact same place and time.

When they stepped inside the time ship, they both headed for the controls. "'Fore we can go, I've got to change some of the defaults. Do some jiggery-pokery. That sort of thing." He dropped to his knees and lifted one of the hatches that covered some of the internal workings of the TARDIS. Just a few relays to alter, change some of the logic programming, and that should do it.

Of course he'd have to fix it later, but it'd do for now. The TARDIS sparked as he began his tinkering. "Hush. Gotta fix the timeline, you understand."

The sparks died. "That's a girl," he murmured as he flipped on the sonic screwdriver.

"Doctor? D'you need any help?" Rose asked.

"Nah. Almost done. Then it'll be back to Christmas Eve, 1869." He finished quickly and closed the hatch.

He stood and began to set the coordinates – the TARDIS groaned a little in protest, but she let him finish. "Should get there 'bout fifteen minutes before our previous selves. Just remember, Rose, this is just to see what happened. Nothing more. Can't change anything right now and we can't let our previous selves see us. We'll be landing around the corner from Beechwood Road. We can hide ourselves across the street and keep an eye on the corner. See what happened and then fix it."

"An' that'll be it, right? All sorted, everything back to the way it was?" When he heard the slight tremor in her voice, he looked intently at her.

Of course. She was still hurting. She'd just seen her Dad. He was alive and she was losing him all over again. "Yeah. Back to the way it was."

"So my Dad'll be dead. Again." She sighed as she leaned against one of the pillars. "I'd asked for it, y'know. Asked about my Dad an' what happened? He was alive. A different man from the one I knew 'bout, but him. My Dad. An' now he's gonna die. We're gonna kill him. An' you know what? That's the hardest thing of all 'cause I know it's the right thing to do."

"Rose." Her name was a sigh upon his lips and he abandoned the console to cross the short distance between them. As he pulled her into a comforting hug, he realised that this was what he'd been trying to prevent before. He'd wanted to shield her from the harsh realities of time travel, the possible consequences, but he couldn't. Not this time. Now she knew what it was like. And, in a very small way, she knew what it was like to be him.

There'd been times that he wished he could've prevented Gallifrey's destruction – gone back in time, warned his previous self, something. But he couldn't. There were some responsibilities that he couldn't shirk for the sake of his own desires. Though he wished that he could do something to spare Rose that pain. "I'm sorry."

She sniffled a little but smiled up at him. She was brave, his Rose. And she knew what would happen if they didn't do something. "I'll be okay, Doctor. Enough wastin' time. We've got to save the world."

"Yup. Same old, same old." He paused for a moment before releasing her as he added, "Not a bad life?"

Her lips stretched into a genuine smile. "Still better with two."

"Yeah." He grinned as he returned to the console.

With a flip of the switch, he turned back toward her. "1869, Cardiff. Christmas Eve, redux."

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7: Groundhog Day

**Chapter 7: Groundhog Day**

She shivered as she stepped out of the TARDIS, though she suspected that the chill air had little to do with her reaction. She was in too many places at once this day. Coming, going, and here all at the same time. This was where the world had changed. Something they'd done, perhaps. A person they'd influenced or something they'd said had altered history.

They just had to find out what.

Silence stretched between them as the Doctor led the way around the corner. Everything looked the same as before. Same lamps, same street, same alleyway. Same people on the streets, same paperboy, same snow.

Nothing had changed. Not yet, at least.

They hid themselves as best they could, tucked away in a dark corner with a decent view of the alleyway where the TARDIS — and their past selves — would arrive. The Doctor kept his hand on her shoulder and, despite the difference between their body temperatures, his skin burned where it touched her.

That was when she heard it — that familiar grinding noise that announced the arrival of the time ship. She felt herself tense as she watched the TARDIS materialise. If she recalled correctly, it would take a few minutes for their past selves to emerge.

"Doctor, wha-" Her words were cut off as his hand tightened on her shoulder.

"Oi! You two! For shame, sir, and on Christmas Eve, too." A new voice interrupted them and she turned to see a constable staring at the two of them with a disapproving look. "It's indecent. I should take both of you in. And this far from the brothel, too!"

Anger burned within her and she opened her mouth to protest, but the Doctor beat her to it. "She's my wife, Constable. An' I take exception to your implyin' that she's a lady of easy virtue."

The officer was immediately apologetic. "My apologies, sir, but there are standards and what decent people expect..."

"I know your rules, Constable, but m' wife's in a delicate condition. The cold was a bit much, so I brought her out of the wind. Home's jus' around the corner, but she needed to rest. You understand, Constable." The Doctor pushed her behind him and, with one of his hands, he gestured toward the alleyway.

She couldn't believe what he'd said, but she knew he had his reasons. That he claimed her as his wife without pause didn't surprise her. What did was his claim that she was pregnant. But that could also be because he knew how she'd react to the officer's implication. That she was a whore. If she could get away with it, she'd lay him out on the ground with one good punch. Yet she couldn't. Best let the Doctor get on with it and tease him later.

He could take care of the officer. All that she needed to do was watch the alleyway. See what might've happened to change history. And then they could get on with saving it.

She edged surreptitiously to one side to get a better view of the alleyway. There. Now she could see beyond the Doctor and the constable whose conversation she resolutely ignored. She had to concentrate.

Ah. There she was. Well, the past her. It was strange, really. She was here, with the Doctor. But she was there, too. She could remember what had happened. She'd stepped out of the TARDIS and the Doctor had followed. Then they'd got the paper, found out they were in Cardiff 1869, and heard the first screams from the theatre. But where they'd gone wasn't important.

They needed to know what had happened _after_ they'd left the TARDIS behind. She ignored her past self and the past Doctor as they crossed the street, making certain that she kept to the shadows as much as possible. The Doctor was still occupied with the constable, so that should provide him with enough cover. She certainly didn't remember seeing herself and she would if it'd happened — right?

Sometimes time travel was rather confusing. She kept her eyes on the alleyway and refused to be distracted when she heard the screams. The Gelth were attacking in the theatre and she heard the constable quickly make his goodbyes and rush toward the commotion.

Good.

"So, jus' when did you knock me up, then?" she asked absently once he returned to her side.

"Oi!" he protested. "That was jus' to get rid of the Keystone Cop."

"Right." She started to laugh at his protest but that was when it happened.

She saw a cat pass in front of the TARDIS, intently chasing a mouse.

The cat skidded on something, startled, and ran into the street.

The cat ran in front of a carriage that was passing just in front of them.

The horses swerved out of the animal's way, eyes wild with sudden fear, and the driver lost control.

The carriage tilted to the side from the sudden movement, sending both it and the horses to the ground. The team fell in a tangle of legs, desperately trying to kick themselves free of the harness and shafts. However, it was a useless effort. The animals and the carriage hit the ground with a sickening thud.

In a second it was over.

Her hand drifted to her mouth in shock as passers-by alternately screamed or tried to help those trapped inside the carriage. However, she knew the truth.

It was too late.

This was how Frederic Harrison had died.

Now, somehow, they had to prevent it.

She felt the Doctor take her hand and pull her across the street, avoiding the commotion around the accident scene. The sounds of the street outside were muted when they entered the alley, almost as if they were treading some sort of sacred ground. The TARDIS stood as a silent sentinel over them as the Doctor traced the cat's tracks to just in front of the ship's double doors.

He dropped her hand and knelt, pointing out the animal's path up to the point where it had skidded. He rummaged through the snow, dusting off the soft white flakes that covered the object that had apparently been the cause of the cat's slide.

The Doctor picked it up and turned it in his hand, a frown etched deeply into his face. He held it out to her and she felt astonishment and dawning horror course through her as she realised what it was.

A pebble.

Now she remembered. When she'd stepped out of the TARDIS that first time, she'd stepped twice. The first to see her footprint. The second to leave. That second time, she'd felt something shift under her boot.

She knew without a doubt just what that something was.

It was that pebble.

She'd caused it.

She'd done it.

She'd changed history.

"Oh god," she whispered. "Doctor, I stepped on that pebble. I remember now. God, what've I done?"

He looked grim as he dropped the pebble into the snow. "'S not your fault. C'mon. Time to get this sorted."

What had she done?

* * *

A pebble. It had to be a bloody stone that caused this mess, didn't it? Nice bit of irony, that. One of the first lessons every Time Lord learned was one of causality. A stone dropped into a calm pool of water caused ripples — they started small, then grew larger and more defined. Then, when the ripples reached the edge of the pool, they were reflected. They interacted with the original ripples and diffused.

That was the simplest explanation for the web of time. A tiny ripple caused by a pebble. And here he was, living out a perfect case in point.

Fantastic.

It took longer than he liked to get back to their TARDIS, but he was willing to begrudge the time. Wouldn't matter for too long, after all. Just one short hop in his time ship, and this would be sorted once and for all.

Simple.

He slid the key into the lock and opened the door, ushering Rose in before him. She'd been strangely silent on their way back to the TARDIS, but he figured it was just urgency. She knew that they had to fix this particular mess.

"Doctor, how could a _pebble_ cause the Sontarans to invade in a hundred years?"

Ah. Thoughts about temporal mechanics. That'd be enough to cause anyone to go silent. Or mad.

"Have you heard 'bout the butterfly effect?" he asked as he crossed to the console and flipped the switches. If they just removed the pebble from the equation, just picked it up right after the past Rose kicked it and put it back to where it was, that should fix the problem nicely. If they completely removed the pebble, took it with them, it might cause another ripple effect. Enough messes had been created because of that bloody stone. He wasn't about to start another.

"Butterfly flaps its wings in New York an' a typhoon hits Hong Kong, right?" Rose replied as she settled into the captain's chair next to the console.

"Bit simplistic, but yeah. That pebble's jus' like the butterfly's wings. It caused a tiny disturbance in the fabric of time. It's all 'bout causality. Action: pebble moved. Reaction: Cat skidded on the pebble. Reaction: Cat darts out into the street. Reaction: Carriage accident. Reaction: Harrison's death. Reaction: Trade Union Act of 1871 never happens, etc, etc."

"So we jus' need to take away that pebble..." Her brow furrowed as she seemed to think through the problem. "No. We can't completely take it away, right? 'Cause if we do, an' it's not there at some later time when it was supposed to be, it could cause another one of these altered timelines?"

He grinned, immensely proud. "You 'ave been listenin'. Very good. And yes, exactly. So we'll have to put it back exactly where it was 'fore your past self stepped on it."

"But won't that be changin' things? 'Cause I stepped on it, an' it moved, but if we move it back it'd be like it never 'appened but it did... I think I'm getting' a headache." She pressed her hand against her forehead.

He couldn't help but feel sympathetic. "Yeah. Causality does that to ya. Be thankful that's jus' the _Quick Notes_ version. I had 100 years' worth of it."

She winced. "100 years?"

"Yup." He activated the controls and the TARDIS groaned to life. A few seconds later, the frantic movement of the time rotor slowed to a stop. "There we go. Back to the beginning. We're a few streets away, this time. Can't risk running into ourselves twice, y'know."

"So, we move the pebble, won't we see it? I mean, wouldn't I 'ave seen me move it?"

Ah. That was a good point. Time was already weakened here. There was the pebble and there would end up being three of him in the same time period. "Nope. 'Cause you're not comin' with me." Before she could do more than open her mouth in protest, he lifted his hand. "I can move faster, an' there's less chance of me causin' a paradox. Done this before, me. You can stay here, keep the TARDIS company. Won't be more than a few minutes. Fifteen tops. Jus' gotta make sure the timeline's fixed."

"But, Doctor, you need me." She looked rather lost and he smiled faintly.

"Yeah, I do. But not here. Not now. Best you stay here. Back soon, 'kay?" Without bothering to let her answer, he strode toward the doors and slipped out into the winter night.

* * *

No. He wasn't allowed to swan off without her. He _needed_ her. Didn't he think she knew what might happen? Didn't understand the consequences? Hell, she'd screwed up all of history. It was only her _right_ to be there when it got fixed.

Wasn't it?

She shook her head as she walked to the doors, opening them so she could watch for his return. No. She couldn't risk it. She'd done enough already.

She'd changed history. Destroyed it. And for what? A bloody pebble. It wasn't like she'd knocked her dad out of the way of the car that'd killed him. Wasn't like she'd done it on purpose. But she'd changed the timeline all the same.

Maybe she should go back home. The Doctor had trusted her. Trusted her with this fabulous gift of time travel and she'd squandered it. She'd screwed up so drastically that she'd caused the Sontarans to invade. She'd killed the Doctor. Not with her own hands, but it might as well have been.

She'd done it all. It was all her fault. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this. Maybe it was time.

It was all her fault.

Before, she'd wanted to go with the Doctor, accompany him. But he'd told her to stay behind. What if he really left her behind because he was mad at her, hated her for what she'd done? He knew it was her fault. He had to condemn her, right? He held others up to such high standards — her, too. And she'd failed him. Failed all of history and time. And for what? What the hell was it all for?

She'd kicked a pebble and changed the world. What an epitaph to the life of one Rose Tyler, former shop-girl and Time Lord's companion.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Her fault, yes. But stupid, too. She should've noticed that she'd moved that stone. Should've, but didn't. She'd just gone on thinking that she was invincible. Couldn't change time. Sure, she could be born in 1987 and die in 1869, but that wouldn't change much. Not time. Not really.

Was this what it was like? Being him? Knowing the possibilities and consequences and what ifs of every situation? Knowing that a pebble could change history? Knowing that a blundering mistake by an incompetent companion could destroy everything?

She choked back a sob. It was her fault. All of it. Killed the Doctor, saved her Dad, and watched a different future unfold before her.

He was right to leave her behind this time. Who knew what else she might've screwed up if she'd followed him.

And, suddenly, she _felt_ a shift in reality. It might've been her imagination, but she knew time was running its rightful course. They'd done it.

They'd succeeded.

But she'd still failed.

_To be concluded..._


	8. Chapter 8: Aftermath

_Thank you to all of my reviewers. I'm pleased that you've enjoyed the story, and thank you for your kind reviews. :) And, now, for the conclusion... - Gillian_

_

* * *

_**  
Chapter 8: Aftermath**

It was almost an anticlimactic ending.

Pebble shifted back, no cat darting into the street, and no carriage accident. It was a tidy solution for a not-so tidy problem. He rubbed the back of his neck as he stood from his hiding place next to the TARDIS. Any moment now, he'd be able to tell that it truly did work.

Any moment now...

"Bloomin' 'eck!" The exclamation rose over the normal street noise.

Excellent. His past self and past Rose had just disappeared. It had given the poor constable the fright of his life, but there was nothing for it. He wouldn't be able to tell anyone about what he'd seen for fear of being accused of being a lunatic. Not the best solution, but it was all that he had.

He brushed imaginary dust from his legs as he stood. Back to the TARDIS, back to Rose, and away from this city.

He'd almost died enough times this night.

* * *

His expression was unfathomable as he walked down the street toward the TARDIS, but she could imagine what it might mean. Sure, they'd saved history this time. But what about the next time she screwed up? 

What about the next time she destroyed history because of a misplaced step, or the wrong word, or just by being there? What if she did it again?

She hugged herself against the sudden chill that ran through her body. The cold was bone-deep, originating from the inside rather than out. She was cold — chilled because she knew what she'd done. The Doctor would have to take her back, take her home.

She couldn't be trusted with time travel. That much was obvious. Nor could she be trusted with his life. She'd killed him with a single misplaced step. She'd changed the world because of a bloody pebble.

A pebble!

It felt more like a plot out of a cheap science fiction novel than real life. But it was. Real, completely real, and she'd done it.

Her fault.

"Ready to go?" he asked as he approached, but what she keyed in on was that he wouldn't meet her eyes.

He wouldn't look at her, but why should he? She was the failure. Not him. She should apologise, but what could she say? 'Sorry I destroyed the timeline?' or 'Sorry I killed you an' caused the invasion of Earth?' No.

Best to say nothing. Just nod.

He'd take her home and she'd have to live with the knowledge of what she'd done. She'd had it all. A best friend, a man — alien — that she loved, and she'd got to go on such amazing adventures.

Not anymore.

She wasn't worthy of the position of time-traveller. She'd failed him. And that was what hurt most of all.

* * *

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as he walked to the console. He wanted to get them as far away from Cardiff, 1869 as possible. Too much had happened there. He should've guessed. Should've realised. The tiniest change could change the course of history and it had. 

A pebble. A tiny, insignificant stone had changed the world.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Oh, it'd happened before. Either he'd done something, or his companions had, but they'd always sorted it in the end. Or else the Time Lords had done the sorting for them. They didn't even have that backup. The Time Lords were gone. He was all that was left, and he should've known.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He set the coordinates and sent the TARDIS into the vortex. They could drift for a while as far as he was concerned. He'd almost lost her. So many times and in so many ways. But none as permanent as this. History had changed and Rose had changed with it. He should've known. Should've, but didn't.

Some Time Lord he was.

That was when a muffled sob reached his ears and he turned back toward the door. Rose hadn't moved very far from the entrance and she had wrapped her arms around herself as she shuddered with reaction. This had happened before, right after they'd seen Pete for the first time. But now it was sorted. Everything was fixed, back to normal, all better.

Except, it seemed, for her.

"Rose?" he asked as he crossed the room.

"I did it, Doctor. I had changed the world. I screwed it up. I made it so you died, my Dad lived, an' the Sontarans invaded. I did. Me. Stupid Rose Tyler all excited 'bout a trip into the past. Christmas Eve, 1869. An' what did I do? What did I go an' do? I hit a pebble. A bloody _pebble_ an' 'cause of that I destroyed the world. Me." She shook her head, loosening strands of hair from her bun from the force of that movement.

"Rose, you couldn't have known..." He tried to reassure her, but she wasn't listening.

"I'm a liability, Doctor. I am. Jus' as stupid and bloody useless as the other apes from my planet. I destroyed history, Doctor! Maybe you should jus' take me home 'fore I do anything else wrong. Or something even worse. I can't believe you'd even _look_ at me after that. I can't even look at myself." Rose dropped her gaze to the floor, refusing to look at him even when he touched her chin.

She had no idea. None whatsoever. She thought herself a liability. A failure. She knew nothing. Nothing at all.

Sudden anger burned within him at the thought of her blaming herself. Yes, it was a mess. But it was fixed now. Consequences were addressed, the ripples halted in their path. But it wasn't her fault. She thought she'd failed. She thought she'd destroyed the world.

She was wrong.

He had.

Gallifrey. Silurian Earth. This Sontaran-controlled Earth. Different names, same thing.

"Rose, listen to me. You did nothing wrong. Got it? Nothing at all. You couldn't have known what might've happened. I should've." Didn't she see? She wasn't the one to blame.

"No, Doctor. I'm not havin' it. You're not takin' the blame for this one. 'S my fault," Rose insisted. "You should jus' take me home if this is what I end up doing. I'm no help to you like this."

"No!" he all but shouted, reaching out to grip her shoulders. "No," he said in a softer voice. "Rose, I'm not gonna take you home unless you want to go. It's not your fault. You couldn't have known what might happen. I've done it too. Every time traveller has, an' what matters is that it's sorted now. Fixed. An' we can go back to being just us. Better with two."

"I don't wanna go, not really," she confessed in a soft voice. "I jus'...Doctor, I met my Dad. He was alive in that alternate timeline."

"I know," he replied, pulling her into a hug. Her slender body trembled against his own and he sighed. He could take the pain from her. Make her forget. But he wouldn't.

"An' you know what?" She wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek against his shoulder. "If I 'ad to choose? 'Tween you an' him? I'd choose you."

Words failed him and he closed his eyes, her words re-playing in his mind.

_I'd choose you._

He tightened his embrace, burying his face in her hair.

_I'd choose you._

If he could have foretold the future, he wouldn't have changed it for the world. But he couldn't, not at that moment when they shifted at the same time. He moved his head to speak to her. She lifted hers to kiss his cheek. And, in a moment of serendipity, their lips met.

Time froze.

Dozens, even thousands, of reasons as to why this was a bad idea tumbled about in his mind. It was unintentional. Accidental. But neither moved away.

He couldn't. He was as frozen as time, captured by the feel of her lips against his own. When she sighed, the soft breath drifted over his lips and he shuddered from reaction. So many wants and desires filled his mind, but he couldn't. He shouldn't. This was Rose.

His companion.

His _companion_, for Rassilon's sake.

He shouldn't do this.

"Doc-"

"Rose-"

Their words tumbled over each other and they paused, neither moving away, just as close as before. Only a hair's breath of space remained between their lips. If he tilted his head even a centimetre, they'd be able to kiss again. But he didn't.

"I know what you're gonna say," Rose said when he made no move to speak. "We shouldn't do this. I shouldn't have kissed you. It was an accident. An' it was. I know that. But what if, I dunno, we don't worry about the reasons why we _shouldn't_ and instead think 'bout why we _should_?"

He shook his head. "Rose, I don't. We shouldn't. I couldn't..." He couldn't seem to string a sentence together. There were thousands of reasons as to why this was a bad idea. A horrible idea. He was 900 years old. She was 19. He was a Time Lord, last of them. She was a human. She could die. He could regenerate. Her mum didn't like him. He didn't like her mum.

"If you can look me in the eyes an' say that you don't want to do this. That you don't like me in that way, don't-" She hesitated over the word. "-love me, then do it. An' we can forget about it."

No, he realised. He couldn't. Not now. This was why he'd had rules about this sort of thing. Why he'd followed them to the letter — he wasn't counting Romana, or Benny, or Charley or some of the others in that tally — throughout his lives. "Oh stuff it," he muttered, giving in.

He couldn't give her promises of happily ever afters. He couldn't even promise forever or until the end of time. He could only promise now.

Just now.

He looked into her eyes, reading the fear and, yes, love that mingled within her, and smiled. "I can't promise you anything, Rose. Y'know that, right?"

"I know. An' that's not what I want."

He slid his hand into her hair, letting his fingers tangle within the blonde strands. "What do you want?"

Her answer was a whisper of breath upon his lips. "You."

"'S not forever. Not happily ever after."

"But it's now. The present. Here. The past an' future can go sod off. Now's what matters, yeah?" Rose replied. "'Cause I do love you."

His smile turned brilliant. "Me too."

Life was too short to not give in. Her life, his life, their life together in the TARDIS. Humans burned brightly for too short a time before they were gone. But life couldn't be lived considering the what-ifs of existence. Anything could happen. Anything would happen.

A pebble could change the course of history.

A kiss could change his life.

And, as he dipped his head to kiss her again, he realised that it had.

**THE END**


End file.
